Fault
by ineedyoursway
Summary: An awful event in junior high leaves Bella adrift and alone. Years later, she begins to recover with the help of both a repentant Edward and her new friend, James. Things begin to look up, but is everything as it seems? AH/DARK
1. Chapter 1

If someone read the timeline of my existence as if it were a story, they would think they knew the exact point that my life went to hell. Well, they would be wrong. They don't know me. They don't know anything about me. They don't understand my mistakes. They don't understand what I did, what I did personally, to bring myself down. I am not a completely selfless person. I am not pure, I am not saintly, and I am not to be pitied. No one understands that I caused this. I invited danger to my back door. It was _me_.

Freshman year. Yeah, that was a low point. Edward stopped talking to me. Not that I can really blame him, I mean, I was a classified freak of nature. I didn't talk to anyone anymore, I didn't have any friends, I even hung out in the art room any minute of free time we had. Even in the art room I would hide behind my easel, the large piece of parchment a shield to anyone who happened to enter the room. I used my dank, limp brown hair to hide my eyes. It fell in front of my face in greasy strings because I didn't shower. It was disgusting. I was stuck in a funk.

Charlie drove me to and from school in his cop car. It was social suicide, but I understood why he did it for me. He wanted to keep me safe after what happened in eighth grade. He was being extra cautious because his daughter got 'raped'.

In his house.

With his door unlocked.

With his gun on the kitchen table.

Yeah.

It wasn't his fault, anyways. I knew that. He didn't know that. I knew the truth. I knew it wasn't anyone's fault but my own. No one could have prevented it but me. Me and my stupidity, my eagerness to please, my naïveté and carelessness with my own sense of security. I was restless. I thought I was cool. Dating a boy twice my age made me the talk of the school. He dropped out of High School. He was working on his GED. He fixed cars. He was a bad boy with a tongue ring and a horrid case of acne on his chin and cheeks. He picked me up from school in his car. Because he drove. And that was the shit.

Edward didn't like him.

He would tell me that. Every. Single. Day.

I laughed at Edward. He rode home on the bus with the sticky gum on the seats and the bald transvestite bus driver named Vicky. Vicky had a lazy eye. She would look at you when you sat in the front seat. She looked at you while she was driving. She watched every kid get off on every stop. She, he, whatever, watched them file down the hall with her lazy eye, while watching the road with her normal one. And I'll tell you, even a Ford Taurus with a shotty engine and broken windows was better than Vicky and her lazy eye and the sticky gum on those seats.

You know what is sad?

I don't even remember his name.

I just remember his tongue ring tapping on my teeth like a knock, knock, knock on a door.

Jessica was my little bitch in eighth grade. She was my lackey, even though she had bigger boobs and cleavage she could hide money and cigarettes in. I remember she would pull them out in the girl's bathroom. It was like an endless bag of tricks. The cigarettes would pop out. Pop, pop, pop. They were never-ending. I swear she had at least two packs in there. I made her buy them, too. I wanted to look cool. I was cool. I choked on my first one, the smoke burning my lungs. I exhaled it in bursting coughs. I threw the cigarette buds into the bulimic girl's stall, because listening to her wretch was the nastiest fucking shit ever. Jessica followed. She did whatever I did. I think she still smokes to this day.

Edward caught me smoking on the last day of eighth grade. He hadn't hit puberty yet. He was still a short, stubby red-head with weirdly pale skin and no muscle. He was shorter than me. I shot up like a twig that year, lanky and tall. But Edward, Edward was a late bloomer. I just remember him glaring at me and pulling the cig from my lips, throwing it on the ground (stupid move, could've caught the whole damn yard on fire). He yelled at me.

"You know we're not supposed to smoke. You get emphysema, like in health. Like the old lady with the hole in her throat. Do you want a hole in your throat, Bella?" he yelled at me. He spit a little. His voice cracked, breaching two octaves. I looked down on him.

"Oh, Edward," I scoffed. "Grow up."

I picked the cig butt off the ground. He stared at me with his mouth agape. I remember thinking that it would be funny if a fly flew down his throat. None did. He stalked off.

The boy, the boy with the tongue rings and the Ford Taurus and the bad acne, he picked me up. He pulled up in front of the busses, showing off, flicking his tongue ring against his teeth with his tongue. Tap, tap, tap.

"Hey." I kissed his lips. I didn't really like his lips. They were stretched tight like a latex balloon, and red in one corner where he constantly tap, tap, tapped his tongue ring. I waved to Jess. I called her Jess because I wanted to, and I knew for a fact she hated the name Jess. "Bye Jess!" I called it out the window. She grinned but her eyes tightened. She didn't know that she had that little mannerism, but I did. I gave her the finger. She looked shocked. That's all I saw before we drove off.

"Hey," he said. It was sort of a grunt, and it wasn't until we actually pulled up to my house. He nodded his head to the front door. "Your Dad home?"

"No."

"You're sure."

"Yes."

"'K."

He never locked his car. He just left it in the driveway, his keys jingling in his pockets, lying lower than his ass on his legs. I don't even know how his pants stayed there. You saw his whole ass, covered with his boxers, hanging out from under his shirt. We walked into the house. He sat at the kitchen table, eyeing the gun on the counter. His tongue ring went tap, tap, tap in time with the seconds on our coo coo clock. I hated that damn clock. Every fifteen minutes, it scared the shit out of me.

Tap, tap, tap, tick, tick, tick.

"Hey. Let's go upstairs." He shot one last look at the gun and then went up to my room. I poured us two glasses of water and followed him up the steps, entering my childhood bedroom. My bedroom still hasn't changed. I mean, since I was born. It's pink. There are bows in the corner. There are holes in the floor where the crib used to rest, now covered up by my twin bed. Nothing against Charlie, but ever since my Mom left, he hadn't been up for much. Redecorating was never his forte, anyways.

"So." I said, sitting down beside him on the bed. I gave him the water. He looked at it and then set it down on my nightstand, untouched. I took a sip of mine. My hand shook, and the water sloshed around in the cup, spilling a bit. I didn't think he noticed.

"I know what we should do."

I nodded my consent.

My motherfucking consent.

Charlie walked in to us in a… compromising position. The door was unlocked and the handgun was left in the kitchen, and the water sloshed around in my cup every time the bed shook. I think he was shocked at first. He opened the door and just stood there and… stared. As if he was watching porno or some shit. I heard the tap, tap, tap of his tongue ring, against the beat, beat, beat of my heart.

"Mr. Swan," he choked out. We were in a compromising position. And no one calls Chief Swan Mr. Swan. Ever. He stared at us in our compromising position. I'm pretty sure he was too ashamed to extract himself while Charlie stared at us, watching. Maybe he was ashamed because his dick was so small. Then again, I had nothing to compare it to. But trust me, his dick was so small, it practically didn't even exist. I hung limp like a dead fish. My less-than-A-cup boobs were falling out of my bra, so I put them back in. It was the least I could do, really.

Charlie woke up after that. He snapped to life, cocked the trigger, and pointed it straight at his head. His tongue ring tap, tap, tapped much faster, and he withdrew from me. I was left with a bloody, sticky, putrid mess. It stained my sheets. Charlie burned them like they were infected with TB.

I don't even remember what happened after Charlie pulled him out of the room. I just curled up. I curled up and went to sleep.

They tried to get people to talk to me, I remember that. I just really didn't want to talk. I didn't want to talk at all. I didn't want to tell them that I wasn't even a victim. I couldn't even be considered a victim. I was just stupid. Dumb. It was completely my fault, no matter what anyone said. And everyone said it wasn't my fault. Well, they were all dumb, too. Because it was my fault. It was all my fault.

I remember Edward calling a shitload of times. I made sure no one told him what happened. I just didn't want him, him of all people, to think I was the dirty slut that I so easily became. I knew he thought badly of me. I knew it by the way he looked at me. He wrote me a note in Spanish class that told me I changed, and not in a good way, and that he really didn't want to be friends with me anymore. I didn't care because he was a pre-pubescent runt. I didn't know how much his friendship meant to me. I didn't know how much I would lose, acting just like the rest of them.

Freshman year. He wouldn't talk to me. He had friends. I'm pretty sure he was in the celibacy club, ironically enough. He wasn't even religious, and he was in the celibacy club. I remember watching him at his table, with all his friends, all his white pure-bread Christian friends, praying. Praying? Edward never prayed. I knew who he was. That wasn't who he was.

He was being molded. Molded by that girl. Tanya.

He adored Tanya. He crushed on her. I watched him. He followed her around like a puppy-dog. Tanya was a sophomore. She had boobs and fake nails and contacts that made her eyes super blue, like alien eyes. When she looked at people they would oo and aah, but they just seemed like alien eyes to me. And Tanya was super, super religious. So religious that she dangled a cross around her neck, and called her vagina her no-no square and sacred place. Ha.

Tanya paid no attention to Edward. Well, she did let Edward carry her books on occasion. They were heavy, so she made Edward do it. Of course, Edward was all too obliging. Edward would lick the ground beneath her feet to clean it for her, if she asked him to. I watched him suck up to her behind my shield of greasy hair, behind my crappy art and lonely one-person table at lunch. I was invisible. No one even noticed me anymore.

Not even Edward.

Between freshman and sophomore year Edward finally went through puberty, and, my God, he was gorgeous. Tall and well-built from carrying all those books, he became the Greek God of the sophomore class. _Then _Tanya paid attention to him. It only took two days until they were holding hands and sharing chaste, closed-mouth kisses in the hallway, making everyone secretly jealous and outwardly annoyed by their PDA.

I remember hearing girls talk.

They would talk about his jaw. His strong jaw. They would whisper about me on occasion, too.

'Didn't she used to be friends with him?'

'What ever happened to her?'

'I forgot she even went to this school.'

'Yeah, she like died after junior high.'

'Why doesn't she ever wash her hair?'

'I don't know, it's super gross. Does she even shower? Blech.'

I touched my hair. It was super gross. I didn't care enough to shower. Charlie picked me up in his squad car after school. At least this time his lights weren't flashing. I sighed and sat in the backseat behind the metal bars like the prisoner I turned myself into.

"Have a good day, Belly?" Belly. Ugh.

I nodded a bit and stared out the window, eager to leave school. Maybe I should shower. Maybe they would like me if I showered. But is it worth it? Is it worth it to be friends with Lauren and her DD's? Is it worth it to be friends with Eric or Sam or David or Elizabeth or Sarah or anyone else who could judge me at a moments notice? Is it worth it, allowing them to see who I am? What I did?

No. Because I wasn't pure. I wasn't in the celibacy club. I didn't have friends and I destroyed all of my old ones. I wasn't normal. I was ruined.

I was Bella Swan and I gave motherfucking consent.


	2. Chapter 2

***

3 months later…

…September 9

(Junior Year)

***

I woke with a start, my nightshirt soaked thick with sweat. I sighed, glancing around at my unchanging bedroom. My dolls still sat with their backs pressed against the foot of my bed. My closet was propped slightly ajar, wayward pieces of clothes leaking out of it. A small ribbon has always been tied to the knob on the door. I sat up and stretched, opening my window to the world, because, hell, what else could go wrong. I made it a fact to open every window and door whenever I came across one.

There was nothing left to preserve anyways. Charlie, of course, thought differently. He kept the house dead bolted. He was keeping the world out. He was keeping me in. Every window and door was locked. He even had the cat door boarded up. It was strange we even had one, anyways. It's not like we had a cat. Both Charlie and I are allergic. I kneeled with my elbows propped up against the sill, letting the mist waft in and clear my sinuses.

I stepped into the shower (weird, I know). I figured that since I was now an upperclassman, I might as well shower. I don't know. Stupid logic. Stupid, I know. Stupid I've always known. When I walked down to the kitchen Charlie looked at me with shock. Clean. Weird. I had a brief déjà vu moment of him sitting with Renee when I was small and things were uncomplicated. She used to squeeze orange juice fresh from the oranges themselves, even though it was completely useless and a major waste of all of the oranges in our house.

She would place them in front of us, Charlie and me. Then she would wait expectantly as if she were a normal housewife, yearning to see if her husband and child were pleased by her food. We would take sips. We would be polite. We would spit the pulp into our napkin. We would tell her it was the most delicious drink we had ever had the good fortune to taste. She would beam as if her life's work was finally complete, and return to pulverizing the remaining oranges.

The day she left was just like that, too. She made us orange juice. Except when we told her it was great, she didn't even smile. Charlie didn't notice, but I did. She always smiled. Charlie went to work. I was still too young to be left alone. I was playing with a plastic horse when she came down the stairs, her hair in a bun, frayed and unkempt. This was not my mom; this was a strange new woman that had taken her place. Something had changed her. She looked at me and then looked away as if she couldn't even stand what she was seeing. I called her name when she opened the door because I wanted fish sticks for lunch. The slam of the door and the resulting shake of the loose picture frames was the response I was given. I ran to the window, wondering where she was going.

She waved at me from the driver's seat. Waved at me and then covered her mouth with her hand.

She never came back.

"Belly?" Belly. Ugh.

"Yes, sorry." I noticed that my voice sounded strange lately. I didn't use it much, and now that I had at least attempted, it sounded sort of scratchy, kind of like a zombie. Kind of like the living dead.

"Here." He handed me juice. Orange juice. _Why do people say 'here' when they hand you things? It doesn't even make any sense._

I got a car over the summer. It took ages for Charlie to relinquish the keys to me, even though I bought the car with money I saved from my summer job. Bagging groceries. Most of the time it was fine. No one really noticed me touching their food and getting my germs all over it. The only problem I had was when someone did notice me. Someone with the name of one of the following: Jessica, Lauren or Tanya. Tanya was a joy. Not. One time she cracked all of the eggs before the check out, so when I picked them up to bag them they dripped all over me, the checkout counter, the floor, and her other food. Not only did I have runny egg all over me, but I had to get all of the goods that were in her bag and return them, mop up the floor, and clean the checkout counter.

But I had to hand it to her. It was creative.

We were supposed to do all of these drawings and paintings and shit for art over the summer. I didn't do it. Any of it. I used to have no problems putting my thoughts to paper. But this summer was worse than any other summer. And people say things get _better _with time. Well, they are wrong. Things get worse with time. Worse as in random panic attacks, crippling nightmares, and an all-around shitty existence. I can't even complain about it, either. Because it's my fault anyways.

"I don't know how I feel about you driving today, Belly." Belly. Ugh.

"It'll be fine," I mumbled, pushing crumbs of toast around a bare plate.

"I just don't know. I think I would feel better if I took you." I looked up into his eyes. They were sad and worried and everything I turned them into. I made Charlie this man. He used to be so carefree. All he thought about was fishing and baseball, and the occasional game down at the reservation. He turned into a passive man whose hair was speckled with early grey, and whose voice always contained a certain inflection of worry.

"If you would feel better," I sighed. No car. Not the worst thing I would have to deal with today.

Charlie dropped me off right out front. He watched me walk inside. Once inside, I was alone. The front of the school was populated mostly by underclassmen, including the freshmen who knew nothing about me. It was strangely comforting, but I still found myself seeking refuge in the art room, my sanctuary of off-color pastels and broken crayons. First period was art. It was pretty normal except for the fact that I was given a stern talking to for not doing my summer work. The teacher considered demoting me to an art class I would be repeating, but she felt sorry for me so she left me in. My main classes were blocks. Boring blocks I tried my best to ignore.

Oh no. Gym. I was putting this off, this dreaded class. I needed two classes of it to graduate, so junior and senior year it had to be. I walked to class with a thumping heart. I changed in the stall; a conservative pair of sweats and a baggy t-shirt my drug of choice. The bulimic girl was throwing up in her stall. Jessica Stanley surprised me. She became a leader, assembling a posse of underclassmen that were, quite literally, waiting on her every will. She lit up a smoke. Jess Stanley. Jess Stanley lit up her smoke.

She didn't even notice as I walked past.

I was the first one out there besides the boys. Which, by the way, wasn't even fair, because all boys do is change their shirt and call it good. I sat on the bleachers in the back, begging myself to blend in like a chameleon. They played basketball. The freshmen, no taller than a young Edward, cowered beneath the southern basketball hoop, passing a ball back and forth, attempting to show off to each other. The upperclassmen took turns dunking, if they could. They wore muscle shirts to show off their pecks, and baggy basketball shorts that hung low on their hips.

I didn't recognize anyone. Except one.

Edward passed a football back and forth with a boy whose name I had heard once in passing. His arm would reach up high and extend to throw the ball, his underarm hair showing and his muscles flexing. I held my breath, reveling in the fact that, somehow, he became even more beautiful over the summer. His form held more maturity, just in his stature alone, and his eyes were striking in their beauty. His eyes had always been striking. Not alien, like his girlfriend's. But sharp and intense. I could always see the intelligence and wit in those eyes. He was never stupid like I was, am.

He tried to save me. He tried to save me from myself.

"Eddie!" Alien-eyes ran into the gym, followed closely behind by Jessica and her group. It was a social pecking order obvious to a blind man. First came the senior, her blond curls bouncing on top of her head, her boobs bouncing on top of her chest. Next the junior, willing to please, but also willing to lead. Two underclassmen, age undeterminable, skipped behind, friendship bracelets stapled to their wrists and their arms hooked like small schoolchildren. They wore short shorts and spandex tops and name-brand Nike trainers.

For gym.

Ha.

Edward smiled and stuck his hands in his pockets, dropping the pick-up game of football. He jogged over to her. And… commence PDA. I dearly wanted to look away, but it was as if I couldn't. Like a gruesome car crash, I had to watch for the entire time they sucked face. As did everyone else in the gym. When they broke apart the actual class commenced, and the fat ass coach of the football team lumbered into the room.

"To your feet, we're going to play flag football!" he called, sitting down on the bleachers.

Surprise!

He threw a box of the clip-on flags to the ground, at which point everyone ran like their asses were on fire to grab the same color as their friends. It basically formed so that it was girls against guys, except for the fact that Edward was on the girl's team. Tanya forced him. I could tell by the disappointed look in his eye he got when she handed him his flag. His guy friends made whipping sounds with their mouths, using the flags to signal 'whipped', slapping them against the floor. Tanya just giggled, her cross bouncing up and down against her annoyingly perky boobs.

I made sure I stood near the back, as far away as possible. I crouched down slightly in the sad excuse for a huddle. Did I mention Edward didn't even notice I was in his class yet? Unsurprisingly, the game of flag football quickly turned into tackle football. Which then, for the guy team, turned into let's-see-how-many-boobs-we-can-fondle football. The coach/teacher was writing down plays in his playbook, which rested against his swollen and fat knees.

I swear to God, the entire school is a walking irony. Or sitting, in Mr. Everhart's case.

The boys began to get too close so I backed up. Big mistake.

"Watch where you're going, weirdo!" Weirdo. Best Jess Stanley could do.

"Sorry Jess," I mumbled with a slight smirk, biting my lip and standing out of the way.

"What did you call me?" She stepped toward me with a lumbering gait. The game stopped to watch the spectacle. Jessica had at least three inches on me, and another thirty pounds at that (she decided to join the bulimic girl for a couple of days, but refused to give up her love for deep-fried Twinkies).

"Jessica," I said, eyes on my feet. I blushed fervently. I felt my heart rate and breathing increase. Oh shit. Not now. Please not now.

"No you didn't. You called me Jess, twerp. You know no one calls me Jess. Not now, not ever."

"Sorry."

"No you're not."

"Really."

"You're not even being sincere. You're just, like, dead. Nobody even likes you. Why do you still go here anyways? You're just annoying. Like a pest. Like a beetle or something gross like that."

"Sorry."

"No you're not!"

She pushed me down onto the squeaky, waxed floor of the gym. I landed on my ass with a huff, staring at the floor. I curled up. _Please go away please go away please everyone go away_. The coach blew his whistle and I could hear him stand up. The floor fucking shook like a goddamn earthquake when that man stood up.

"What's going on out there?" he called. His voice was so low that it vibrated the floors just like his weight.

"Um, Mr. Everhart, this girl's, like, freaking out."

Mr. Everhart walked over to me with a thump, thump, thump. Godzillaaaa!

"Everybody back off," he bellowed, huffing and puffing. I didn't peek out underneath my arms. I just watched the floor, willing myself to calm down. Just calm down, okay. Calm down, okay. I saw his pudgy feet, _why is every part of him so pudgy?_, breach my line of sight. "Do you need help? Are you going to be okay? You need the nurse?"

I shook my head, no. I just shook my head a bunch of times. I probably looked crazy, shaking my head that many times, 'cause he said, "can someone take her to the nurse?"

"I'll take her." I knew that voice, just not as deep as it was now. I knew the soul of that voice. The true soul of that voice, behind the façade. Just because I knew the soul of him didn't mean I had to look at him. I kept my head in my arms, staring at the floor. It was scuffed by a shoe, a jagged black line striking across the golden waxed surface. "Can you walk?" His voice was right by my ear, and when he touched my shoulder a shock wave went off. I jumped away from Edward.

"Don't touch me," I spat. Everyone was watching me._ No one is supposed to watch me because I am invisible. Invisible. _I jumped up. I didn't want anyone to watch me anymore. I couldn't stand all of those people watching me. I couldn't stand them judging me, judging me with their hard eyes and hard stares. I ran to the bathroom. I ran to a stall. I puked.

One day down, one hundred seventy-nine to go.

***

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	3. Chapter 3

***

Charlie finally allowed me to use my car. I discovered that my car likes to chug mysterious gasses out of the exhaust pipe (most of which does not look like something that could be classified as exhaust). I discovered that I could not afford the paint I wanted, so the bright red truck would have to stick out like a sore thumb in the school parking lot. And I discovered that Charlie put a tracking device in the trunk that allows him to know exactly where the car is at all points of the day. So, in essence, I really would not be able to use the car.

Charlie bought me a phone. My contacts are him, the police station (him), and 911 (which would almost immediately turn me over to him). It was actually a pretty nice phone, too. One of those brand-spanking-new ones you see covered in all sorts of glass in the cell phone stores. They pop out and extract keyboards and slide and jump and eventually I bet they will be able to float along side us like our own personal demons.

I sat at my desk in my pink, pink bedroom and stared down at my homework. My homework stared back at me. I had shitty grades. I didn't do anything freshman year. I went to class, I paid attention, and I even, on occasion, did the homework. But the first second the teacher put the test in front of me, I froze. It was like my brain just stopped working, and I couldn't even comprehend what a pencil was. Everyone would finish before I did. I got nervous that people would pay attention to me because I was holding up the class, making them all stay quiet. So I turned in the test halfway done. And then I failed.

Sophomore year I gave up. I knew the same thing would happen, so I stopped caring. The principal talked to me at every grading period, he told me I would have to repeat classes that I failed or else I wouldn't graduate. And then I would have to stay in High School longer. Ha.

I knew half of my classes junior year were going to be repeats, so I wasn't surprised when I was placed in sophomore history, English and Spanish. Somehow I managed to scrape by in math and science, which is why I sat at my desk every night wondering what the fuck an imaginary number even _was_. The school had math tutors, but when I looked they were all college students at the community college, and they were all boys. And I don't work well with them anymore.

The second Friday of the school year was always the last week to change classes. Most people didn't wait that long because it meant two long weeks of make-up work, but there were the few stragglers who had to wait for their schedules to be changed. The second Friday of junior year was just as indeterminable as all other days of the year, until Edward switched into my Spanish class. The Spanish class I was repeating. The Spanish class I failed with flying colors sophomore year. I stared at the faux-wood of the desk, tracing circles with my pinky, using my hair as a shield.

"Hola todos."

I failed Spanish because I never talked. Oh, and because I was shit on the tests. I mean, how the fuck am I supposed to read a story when it's in another language? I speak English, people. Wait. I failed that, too.

"Como estan hoy?"

Cue mumbled replies in multiple languages including but not limited to Spanish, English, and Pig Latin.

"Vamos a trabajar con…"

Okay. Checked out. Started daydreaming. I doodled absentmindedly on my paper, a slew of unconjugated words sitting dormant on the right side of the page. I had a kick ass head of a cat going when someone bumped their hip against my desk, causing my pencils and books to fall to the floor. I didn't look up. I just picked up the books. Eventually I was forgotten and class continued wherever the teacher had left off. I didn't even notice when all of the students started talking because the lecture, for all intents and purposes, was over.

"Bella." I jumped up in shock. No one ever said my name… no one ever said my name ever. Even at home, it was either Belly or Bells. At school, it was that girl or Ms. Swan, or, usually, nothing at all. Edward sat next to me. He actually sat next to me. When I looked up, it was weird. It was like I had never seen the classroom before, even though I had been in it all year last year. Everyone had someone they were talking to. The girls threw their hands up in the air in animated speak or they whispered. The boys nodded to each other, talked about their games, showed each other suspicious pictures on their iPhones with a permanent smirk on their faces. The teacher sat at his desk, surfing the internet on his computer while trying to look like he was actually doing something. And Edward; Edward looked right at me.

"Um." I coughed. Like, actually. I covered my mouth with my arm and leaned away. It was gross. I was probably getting sick.

"Are you sick?"

I shrugged. I guess.

"So I was thinking." He stuck his pen in his mouth placing it between his teeth. Up and down. The pen went up and down in between his lips. Up and down. I watched. "Do you remember in 6th grade when we went on a field trip and we had to be like pilgrims or whatever?" He was acting like this was normal. I hadn't talked to this boy since I was a raging bitch to him in 8th grade, and all of a sudden he was pretending that this conversation was completely normal. This was not normal.

"You," he pointed his finger at me, his mouth curving up in a half-smile. He even let out a small chuckle. "You hated those hats the girls had to wear. The bonnets or whatever? I think. Yeah, anyways. And then I was making fun of you because you had to wear that horrible hat. That was such a horrible hat, y'know? It was so ugly. And your hair was frizzy and you were so mad at me that you took off your hat and tied it on my head so tightly that I was choking. And I was choking and coughing and shit at that weird pilgrim place, and it was tied so well that the teacher couldn't even get it off without scissors." He laughed at his own joke. I could see his eyes reminiscing. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I had no recollection of that instance at all. I hardly remembered anything from before. My memories were basically useless.

He stopped laughing. He looked at me. His smile dropped.

"You don't remember, do you?"

I shrugged. No.

The bell rang. I stood up and left.

I was such a horrible friend. I was even a horrible friend back then. I clutched my Spanish books to my chest and walked to the art room. Fuck. Ugh. The TV was on in the corner and everyone was singing along to the free credit report commercial. I found my spot in the back and taped a large piece of paper up on the easel. I attacked said paper with black paint. The paper wasn't strong enough, and sagged under the weight of the paint. Its edges curled over and drips splattered onto the floor and onto my clothes.

"It's good to see you painting again." My teacher was a girl. She had frizzy black hair that she always tried to put it up in a ponytail, but it just looked like a firework was exploding out of the back of her head. Her name used to be Mrs. Gregor but she went through a nasty divorce over the summer. She came to school this year with her maiden name, Ms. Miner. Sometimes when she thinks no one is looking she rips up her old art and puts it in a shredder. I think it reminds her of him.

I shrugged. "This doesn't count really."

"Stop shrugging it's not good for your spine." _What?_

She picked up a clean paint brush and dipped it in blood red paint. She then assaulted my black mass with it. Just one splatter. One wound, with a large drip cutting through black like a knife to flesh.

"What does this remind you of." Her questions weren't questions, they were statements. It was because she always had the answer in her head already, and she was just waiting for you to read her mind.

"Blood. A cut."

"Gruesome."

"Yeah."

"Me too."

She returned to her desk, picking up some smaller pieces of art and sliding them into the shredder. One by one.

One time I considered chopping off all my hair. Like pulling a Britney Spears and just shaving it off. I even bought a razor. Not a leg razor, but one of those hardcore ones they actually use to shave heads. I sat in front of my mirror and stared at my face, at my greasy hair. It was just dead weight. That's what I told myself. It was no longer a part of me. It no longer matter. Dead cells. Dead. I turned the razor on and held it to my forehead, the small blades whirring. I was prepared and ready. I just… couldn't do it.

We weren't allowed to eat in the art room, or else I would never leave. We had to eat in the cafeteria. In my school, we have to eat in the cafeteria. God forbid a crumb of food ever leave the cafeteria. There were signs all over the place. No food out of the cafeteria. Janitors can only clean the cafeteria. We are all sheep and we all must stay in the cafeteria.

I sat alone. Not a big deal, really.

I watched Edward a lot. Edward and Tanya. I ate my peanut butter straight from the jar and I watched Edward and Tanya.

"Eddie?"

"Yes baby?"

_Why do they like to talk right behind where I sit?_

"Could you do something for me?"

"What do you need?"

"Well, we're really running out of space at this table… and she doesn't really share."

Edward looked at me. His face transformed into a grimace. He said something to Tanya that I couldn't hear, but I was sure it was something along the lines of 'but Tanya, she has no friends. That's why she sits alone. But you can take it from her, I guess.'

"Couldn't you at least talk to her?"

"I can't make any promises."

"Baby, please?"

"I'll try."

I stared down. I looked down so that I would not have to meet his eyes. I knew what he was going to ask. I had nowhere to go. We had to stay in the cafeteria. We couldn't leave the cafeteria. We had to eat in the cafeteria.

"Bella?" _Damn, that's twice in one day._

I looked up. He looked at me. I looked back down.

"I won't make you."

"Yes you will."

"Why wouldn't you talk to me in Spanish? Why now?"

"Because I had nothing to say in Spanish. I couldn't remember. I can't remember."

"That's okay…"

"Do you need the table?"

He glanced over to Tanya, who was watching our conversation. She pursed her lips and pulled some hair behind her ears. She smiled and wiggled her fingers, and if that happened in a movie the sound editor would add in a tinkle behind it. He smiled back at her. It wasn't a fake smile. It was a real smile. There was a reason he spent a year groveling at her self-righteous feet.

"You're not even Christian." I couldn't believe I just said that. I slapped a hand over my mouth. He was glaring at me now. That made him mad. The cross dangled from his neck.

"People change, Bella. You of all people should know that."

"But I know you."

"You knew me."

"No, I _know _you."

"No Bella. You really don't."

"Fine."

I picked up my books and left.

***

**moving right along. **

**reviewz?**


	4. Chapter 4

***

The first two weeks James was at the school I didn't even notice. He lurked in the back, in basically the same way I did, so it was almost impossible that our paths would ever cross. We had no classes together, we weren't in the same grade, he was new and everyone else was old. Everyone else had been with each other since Kindergarten. James was actually forced by his parents to move to Forks, and it was just his unlucky circumstances themselves that landed him in Forks High, home of the unchanging (oh, and the Spartans).

I had nowhere to eat at lunch anymore. After my little outburst with Edward, their group successfully took over my table. Every day I would walk into the cafeteria, holding my paper bag filled with my jar of peanut butter, and stand awkwardly near the double doors. Did you know every time that someone opens a double door it slams, and every time it closes it slams? Yeah, I knew. I knew that fact very well. I ended up sitting at the end of the freshman table. It was a low blow, but there really wasn't anywhere else to go. They gave me weird looks when I sat down, even though I took the seat farthest from their precious Hello Kitty purses.

You know what James did? He just walked up and tapped me on the shoulder. I swear I almost had a heart attack.

He was very blunt.

"Why do you sit at this table?"

"Uhh..."

"Oh, spit it out." While saying that he did, in fact, spit. A drop landed on my shoulder. I wiped it off. He noticed.

"Because I do."

"You're lying." He raised his eyebrow. He acted like he knew everything. That was just the way that James was.

"So."

"Ha. I knew it."

"So."

"Tell me."

"No."

I turned around. I heard him harrumph a bit, his feet shifting back and forth on the linoleum. He always wore steel-toed boots. He never would tell me why. But I could always hear him coming. The clack, clack of the steel-toed boots on every hard surface was like a signal, or a collar on an animal. A bell. James never was very stealthy.

"Fine. I'm James." He sat next to me. _Ugh._

"What?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, but..." _Oh, great. _"You could be really hot, you know, if you showered or something."

"Uhh..."

"And your clothes. Who buys your clothes? They are not in style." He was eating applesauce.

"Are you gay?"

He spit out the applesauce.

"No!"

"If you are, I have no problem with it."

"Well, I'm not. Sorry."

We ate in silence. We ate with sporks. We ate with those weird plastic sporks that come in the packs of a knife, a spork, and a napkin. They are all wrapped up nice in a bit of plastic, and thrown in a huge bin at the front of the cafeteria, where people buy hot lunch. Neither of us needed a spork. We just used them because that was all we were given. We were just given practical things, things that could be made better, but weren't. He finished his applesauce and threw it over my head into the trash can at the end of the table.

"There's applesauce in your hair," he told me. He wiped it off with the sleeve of his shirt.

"Don't touch me." I hated when people touched me.

"Whatever."

He drummed his fingers against the table. All of the freshmen stopped eating and glared at him, at his fingers drumming against the table. He looked at them. He smirked at them. He continued drumming his fingers against the table. He started rocking out or something. He was really weird. He was bobbing his head to an imaginary beat, as if he were at his own personal concert in his head. That was when I noticed that he had six piercings in his right ear. His right ear only. It was so weird. Three hoops and three studs, a line of metal trailing up his ear. One of the piercings was infected, and looked bloody and swollen. It made a whole section of his ear red.

"One of your piercings is red." I thought I should at least inform him. He shot me a look.

"Duh. I sleep on it so it gets all fucked up and shit."

"Sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"I don't know."

"That's what I thought," he smirked, sticking his tongue out of his mouth like Gene Simmons in Kiss. "You know what song I'm playing?" His hands were still drumming away.

"Uhh... no."

"You probably don't have good taste in music, then." He seemed pretty certain. He leaned his head down to the table to listen to his drumming hands better. "I could educate you in music, if you want. Because you probably don't have good taste in music. I mean, most people don't. They just walk around and think they do. They think just because the lead singer wears plaid and classifies himself as indie, they automatically have good taste in music. Well, they don't know anything, you know? They could just walk around like that all the time and think they are so smart, but they're not. They need a variety. Everyone needs a variety. You know?"

"Sure." I took a big bite of peanut butter so I wouldn't have to elaborate.

"Don't you want to know about me? Don't you want to know where I'm from? I'm new, you know. I have a buzzed head" - he ran his hand through his stubby hair - "because I was at boot camp. I bet you didn't know that 'cause you don't talk to anyone. Everyone else knows though, 'cause of all the gossip. That's what the problem is with High School. All the gossip. Bothers the hell out of me." All the peanut butter was sticking to the roof of my mouth. I smacked my tongue to get it off.

"Are you crazy?" I asked him when my jaw was unstuck.

"Nope, but you are. That's why you have no friends. 'Cause you're crazy." He drummed his hands louder, as if drowning out any retort I could come up with. I just shrugged, taking another bite of peanut butter. It was better to be crazy than to be a stupid, naive liar. I would take crazy any day. I also really didn't care where James came from, what he did in his past, or why he was here. All I cared about was that he was sitting next to me and it was seriously impeding on my personal space.

"Why do you keep looking over there?" He pointed to Edward. Right at him. I hadn't even noticed I was looking until he pointed it out. I was definitely looking. I always looked. I bet Edward noticed if James noticed. It was pretty obvious, I guess. "That's where you used to sit, isn't it?"

"Uhh..."

"I knew it. Come on." He stood up and grabbed my arm, pulling me to my feet. I yanked it away.

"Don't touch me!" He didn't have my motherfucking consent.

"Whatever, just come on." He stalked off in their direction. Oh shit. Tanya was feeding Edward grapes like in those paintings of Greek gods and goddesses. The only difference was that, instead of lounging on clouds, they were sitting on hard plastic stools in the middle of a cafeteria. Tanya giggled at something Edward said, and it took them awhile to notice that James was storming right at them with me lurking behind. Oh shit. I screwed the lid of my peanut butter on tight, just for something to do. It gave me something to focus on, so I didn't completely panic. Oh shit. I was feeling the panic creeping up on me like a monster. It started tingling in my toes and then it grew and grew, gradually increasing, constricting my breathing, clenching my heart, causing me to scream, to scream and think I was going to die.

"Why did you take her table? That's the only thing she had. You took her table, why would you do that?" His fist slammed on the table. An apple jumped in the air. It took them a second just to respond, they were so shocked. Their mouths all opened in perfect, simultaneous circles. I ducked behind James. This was not my idea. Could they see this was not my idea? Everyone else began to look, craning their heads around. Oh shit.

"She was being selfish." Tanya spoke. She regained her presence first. She was, after all, a role model to the many members of her club. "And here at Forks High School, we do not condone selfish or immoral behavior."

James spat out a laugh. He wasn't fazed at all. He sounded like a crazy man. I knew he had to be the crazy man.

"You sound like a bad sex ed pamphlet."

She gasped, throwing her hand over her heart as if to keep it inside her chest. Any moment, any moment her black heart could fly out for the world to see. Maybe I was the crazy one. For was Tanya really evil? Was she?

"Hey - " Edward wanted a go at the new crazy punk.

"Hey yourself, macho man. Why don't you just give her back her table? You know it's the right thing to do. You know it. I can see your lies, pretty boy. I can see your lies all over your pretty face." Oh shit. I had to get out of there. I was going to explode. I was going to explode out of my skin. Out of my itching skin. James turned around like he felt it. Like he felt my pre-explosion vibe.

"Get out of here, little B."

I didn't know why he called me little B. I didn't know he knew my name in the first place. I didn't know he would stand up for me like that. I didn't know why he did it. I didn't know what caused him to come to me. I didn't know, until after going home that day, that the new kid James was suspended for beating up two boys during lunch, and attempting to shove mashed potatoes down their throats when they screamed. He called me that night to tell me what he did. I didn't know how he got my number, but what I did know, what I did know was that the first time my cell phone rang (ever), it had to be him. It had to.

"Hey little B." He drew out the 'y' and chuckled into the phone. He sort of sounded like a serial-killer over the phone. It was weird.

"How did you get my phone number?" I asked.

"Oh! From your dad. Easy. I told him I was your friend and all, and he sort of freaked out on me at first. Is your dad one of those cops that would just shoot people, like, bam, you're dead? He kind of seems like one of those cops. One of those trigger happy kind of cops. I was just wondering." He rambled a lot. He rambled a lot in general, but it was always worse on the phone. He liked to hear himself talk; he liked the sound of his voice. He told me that once. He asked me, 'Little B, you know what the best sound in the world is?'. I shrugged, and he laughed, all boisterous and nonchalant. Then he said, 'it's my voice. My voice in the shower. It's the most beautiful voice in the whole world.'

"He could shoot you, I guess."

"Yeah, I figure he could. He does have a gun and all. So guess what. I'm suspended. I know where you live, too."

"That's creepy." Might as well call him out on it.

"Yeah, I know. But it's not like you have any friends. I mean, there's no one else to choose besides moi."

"Moi?"

"Me, little B. You're my little B. Buzz."

He hung up. He really was creepy, James. He kind of grew on me though. Not grew on me like I liked him any better, but grew on me in the way fungi grows on your foot. Just a slow creeping growth that takes you over, and it's annoying, but it's also a part of you. And there was no athlete's foot remover for James. In a way, he was right. I was stuck with him. I could have no one, or I could have him. I didn't really choose him, but I didn't choose being alone, either.

I would rather be crazy. I would rather be stupid and naive and a liar. I would rather be anything, than be alone anymore.

***

**don't jump to crazy james conclusions. i kind of liked the guy. in the movie he looked like a naked mole rat, though. **  
**wtf review?  
oh btw, i haven't been saying this isn't mine. well, obviously. stephenie meyer was much more prude and we all know it.  
ps. jesus h christ i know im underage. if i could jump 3 mos ahead for you guys, i would. but i cant. and the mail is mean.**


	5. Chapter 5

***

"So just think about it. Would you actually go to homecoming? It could be interesting. You know?" James had a weird thing about dances and parties in general. Every time anyone in the school threw a party, from an all-girl birthday slumber party to a kegger, James talked about going. But it wasn't until now that he really began to push me. He wanted us to go together. Not as dates, of course, because James, to me, was my brother. Or just a weird twice-removed cousin I had to be cordial two. Either way, I was stuck with him. And he really wanted to go to homecoming.

"No."

"Little B, stop being so annoying all the time and come with me." He lay across my bed, throwing one of my dolls up and down. It was a small miracle that James was even allowed in my room, well, considering. As a weird compromise the door was kept wide open and Charlie walked back and forth every five minutes. The doll he threw looked like it was going to lose its head any second.

"Why would I subject myself to that? God." I tried to focus on my homework. I failed.

"You're so annoying all the time." The doll hit the ceiling.

"You said that."

"Well it's true." I heard a thump and a knock, and the doll's faux-porcelain head rolled to my feet. The weird, unblinking eyes stared up at me.

"Whatever. Just go then if you think I'm so annoying."

"Little B," he started to whine. I turned around to glare at him.

"I said no."

"Wear something blue. I'll pick you up at 8." He stood up and left, with me gaping after him. Charlie watched him walk down the stairs, his tread heavy and slow, and listened for the door to shut. He then turned around and walked into my room. He checked to make sure the window was locked, and then looked at me, at my flabbergasted face.

"Did he touch you?"

I snapped out of it.

"Ugh no, gross." One of those shivers ran through my body. The kind you get when you think of something really disgusting. Charlie stood for a moment, waiting for me to deny my answer, and then left, shutting the door behind him. Something blue. I checked my closet, running my hand through the clothes hanging there. I hadn't actually gone shopping in years, and a lot of the clothes were worn through, eaten by moths, or patched. Something blue...  
_  
Wait, why am I even looking? I didn't agree to go._

I groaned and lay down on my bed. Maybe I should just go. It wouldn't hurt, would it? And he was really excited. Maybe I should just go. Maybe I should.

My phone rang in the middle of the night.

"Little B?"

"Are you kidding me right now?" I rubbed my eyes. The only light in the room was the red, beady glow of my alarm clock, glaring 3:30.

"No listen. I have the perfect idea."

"What," I groaned, stuffing a pillow over my face. Didn't people suffocate that way? By stuffing pillows over their faces?

"We should go as a couple. Like as a date, you know, little B?"

"No." Gross.

"Whatever."

He hung up. He said 'whatever' a lot. I fell back asleep.

The problem with homecoming is the spirit week that leads up to it. Every day we were supposed to celebrate our school and shitty football team by dressing up in various themes specific to each day. For example, Monday was pajama day. That meant the boys would come to school with what they wore to bed the night before, and the girls would wear short cotton barely-theres and tank tops. Did I mention it was bloody freezing in Forks in September? Friday, the day of homecoming, was simply spirit wear, the tamest of the week.

I put on a black sweatshirt and jeans.

Go Spartans.

It was run the mile day in gym. Just one of those rites of passage that came with every gym class. There was running the mile, serving a volleyball, shooting a three-pointer, etc. But today was the mile day. And it was freezing outside. The girls huddled up and formed a body hug that sort of looked like a séance, if I didn't look very closely. The boys lined up as if it were the 400 race at State. They took off their shirts. Ungh.

I actually wasn't a bad runner. I mean, it wasn't like I couldn't run a mile if I wanted to. I could. I just didn't want to.

I jogged in the back, listening to the thunder of feet every time a group passed me. The boys all-out sprinted the first two laps, at which point they slowed down to a run. They were sweaty. What I wouldn't give to lick Edward when he was sweaty...

...no.

The coach blew the whistle early, cutting off the slow girls at 10 minutes.

"Go change."

We were out early, too.

The cafeteria was empty when I sat at my spot at the freshman table. This was the first day that James was off his suspension. I could tell by the way the majority of the cafeteria quieted when he traipsed into the room. People showed respect for anarchy against the hierarchy, they were just too chicken to actually join in. James tapped me on the shoulder. I jumped. Again.

"Don't touch me."

"Whatever. Did you find something blue?"

"Yes," I lied.

"You're lying."

"Jesus, would you stop that?"

He took out his applesauce, shoving a spork into it as if he were stabbing the life out of it. Some of it splattered onto the table like a mini-explosion.

"Well are you going to find something?" he asked a little while later, with less of an accusatory voice.

"Maybe. I don't know. I don't even want to go."

"Just come with me, little B."

"I'm not even little."

"You are compared to me, little B."

"By like two inches."

"Whatever."

He threw his half-eaten applesauce into the garbage and left.

There was one thing about James that I could always expect. The fact that he was true to his word. You could bet, if he told you he was going to do something, he would do it. He would do it if it was in the middle of the apocalypse. You could just bet on it, that he would do it. So I wasn't surprised when my doorbell rang at 8 o'clock sharp that night, and I also wasn't surprised when Charlie blanched upon seeing James standing outside with a tux on. It was sort of funny when he shut the door in his face.

Charlie took a deep breath.

"Belly, why is James outside in a tux?" Belly. Ugh.

"Homecoming," I answered simply. I hadn't found anything blue. I just put on this skirt. This old skirt that I had. It was black. I think I used it for a funeral at some point. Oh, and I washed my hair.

"You aren't going."

"Okay." Before I could turn around there were three sharp raps at the door, signaling James's immediate protest. Charlie opened it back up hesitantly.

"Sir..."

I didn't even listen to his argument. But I guess it worked, for the next thing I knew Charlie was ushering me out the door with my cell phone and a lofty can of pepper spray. James looked smug when he helped me into his car (I didn't even know he had a car). I reminded him not to touch me at least three times before we had even arrived at the school. I was pretty sure he was just ignoring me at that point.

The dance was in the gym. Sort of unsurprising, for at a school as small as ours it was pretty expected. Some people splurged on limos, though I had no idea why. It was probably two miles to the farthest house from our school. Not exactly limo-worthy. I noticed James looking at me from the corner of his eye in that creepy, appraising way.

"What," I snapped, as we walked inside. I sort of wanted to ditch. No, I really wanted to ditch. This wasn't worth it.

"You didn't wear blue," he said. It wasn't sharp either, it was just disappointed.

"Yeah well, I didn't have anything blue." He just nodded.

There was so many people inside. People everywhere. I thought the whole school was packed in that gym. James led me around, but I felt like I was suffocating. I was suffocating, there were too many people. A freshman asked James to dance. She looked so hopeful. I was pretty sure I even sat at her table. James looked at me as if asking permission. I almost wanted to laugh, but I was too overwhelmed. Instead I just walked away. I found a secluded corner. It was dark there. It was dark but the strobe light was flashing and it made me want to throw up. I wondered if I was one of those kids that would have a seizure if I stared at a strobe light for too long. I didn't know, I just wanted to throw up.

I sat down and placed my head between my knees. I couldn't even leave. I couldn't get out of there cause James drove me and he was dancing with that hopeful freshman who more likely than not owned a wide array of Hello Kitty purses. I tried to breathe slowly because sometimes that worked, but it was really not working, it just really wasn't.

"Bella?" _I don't want you to see me like this_. "Bella, are you all right?" _No, I don't want you to see me like this_.

Edward placed his hands on my shoulders and I gasped, pushing him off. That electricity, that dangerous zap.

"Don't touch me," I gasped. _I don't want anyone to touch me_.

"Sorry." He looked sort of like a model in his tux. His hair was done, but still sexy, and when he looked down on me I could see that jaw everyone always talked about. That perfect jaw. "What are you even doing here? Did that weird kid make you come here? I swear to God I'll pound his face in."

I shook my head. The strobe light was flashing.

"I need to get out of here."

"Yeah, yeah, okay. Yeah, okay, come on."

I pushed myself up and he sort of led me out like a body guard. We walked through the people but he pushed them out of the way so they wouldn't get too close. I appreciated that. I appreciated it, I guess. I sat down on a bench outside and to my surprise he sat beside me. The steady thump of the music could still be heard emanating from the gym doors, like a heart beat.

"Where's Tanya?"

"Dancing."

Silence.

"Bella, who is James?"

"I don't know, my friend," I shrugged.

"I don't like him, I think. I don't think you should be friends with him."

How ridiculously familiar that statement was. But this time, who else did I have? What else did I have, besides James and his little B? I wondered if he knew he looked like a model, just sitting there in his tux. I wonder if he knew it, because it really was overwhelming, having him sit there and just look like a model.

After a few moments of silence, he spoke.

"What happened Bella? What happened that day? What happened to you?" And his voice held so much emotion, I couldn't face him. I placed my face in my hands and shook my head, because he couldn't know. He couldn't know what I did to myself. He would be disgusted with me, I could see it. He was perfect and he would find me disgusting.

"Eddie, what are you doing?" Tanya.

I heard Edward stand, the gravel and dirt crunching underneath his shoes.

"What are you doing?" she asked him again. Her voice was very bubbly. Very bubbly and high-pitched.

"Just talking." He was sad. I probably disappointed him.

"Oh, well come inside, jeez."

There was a pause. I didn't look up.

"Okay."

And they left.

***

**i still have the flu, thats why these are coming so fast. because i have nothing to do but sit at home, be sick, and write (:  
it's pretty awesome, actually  
review?**


	6. Chapter 6

***

James found me outside alone on the bench with the stars. He sat down beside me, filling Edward's vacated spot, and sighed. I thought he sort of expected me to not be able to handle the dance. I wondered if he enjoyed dancing with that freshman. I didn't really care if he did. I was sort of grateful, actually. If he hadn't he would have dragged me along for longer, and I would have gone crazy.

"Is it over?" I asked him. It was strange for me to actually initiate the conversation.

"No, there's about an hour left, I think," he replied but made no move to reenter. "You want to go, huh."

"Yeah."

"'K."

I wondered how long I actually lasted in there. Probably twenty minutes, give or take a few. Longer than I expected, but not long enough for James I guess. I hated disappointing people. I hated disappointing people and lying. I hated disappointing people because I felt like shit, and I hated lying because I was shit at it. Plain and simple. James didn't walk me to the door. He just dropped me off, told me he'd call me. I wasn't disappointed I guess. But he was. I wondered if he went back. It was possible.

The thing about my panic attacks was that they came from out of nowhere. One time I was just shopping for groceries and I looked at a pear, and, just like that, I was gone. The weird person in the grocery store that mans the fruit found me on the ground, convulsing like an animal with rabies. They called the hospital and 911 (my dad). That was sort of a catastrophe. And it was obscenely public. But, yeah. They happened just like that. No warning. Just panic.

There were times when, if I could feel it creeping up on me, I could stifle it. I pushed it down somewhere inside of me so it would go away forever. Sometimes, it stayed put. Other times, I was rocking with my head between my legs and struggling to breathe. Those were the worst of times. A lot of times they occurred in the shower. I didn't know why. Something about being naked, I think. Being bare and in the water. Or when it gets too hot in the shower, and my brain, for some reason, decides that I wouldn't be able to open the shower door if I wanted to. And then the shower becomes a cage and the water is too hot and I'm naked and it's all over.

I usually recovered quickly though. Especially when the cops were called. Those were the worst too. Actually, those were always the worst. Too many people, I guess. Just too many people surrounding me, making it worse. I had never lost my lid at school though. That was a first.

It was about two weeks after homecoming, in that awkward stage past the novelty of September but earlier than Thanksgiving break. Most people called it October. Not Halloween October, but the early October that still felt a lot like September. Edward went back to ignoring me, I hung around James like a lost puppy with three legs, and all seemed normal on the Charlie front. It all seemed pretty normal in general, actually. Except James. But I just decided to accept the fact that he really wasn't normal, and just move on from there.

I knew the day was going to be bad when I opened the cupboard to find that Charlie had used the last of my peanut butter. My peanut butter. That was my lunch. After that, I had nothing to eat. Ugh. I made a note to pick up some after school. Charlie drove me to school, but halfway there he nailed someone in my grade for speeding to pick up their friend. Said person in grade glared at me the entire time he received his $150 ticket. Of course, Charlie's lights were still flashing when we pulled up to the school, and the show made all the stragglers turn and look.

I was late to class.

I stuck my hand into a huge, still-spitty wad of gum during English.

I couldn't paint a single thing in Art.

My gym clothes that were tucked away in my locker smelled horribly of sweat.

By Spanish, I'd had enough.

I muttered out some vocab and snatched the bathroom pass the first chance I got.

I was just walking down the hall. It was empty, that might have been part of the problem, actually. It was just an empty hall. One of those eerily empty ones, though. The ones where you can hear your feet clacking away against the linoleum, and everything looks barren and deserted, like an atomic bomb went off and left you standing in nuclear winter (only without the winter part of it). The doors were all shut, boarded practically, yet the wind somehow blew through, rattling loose lockers in its wake.

That was part of the problem. Those rattling lockers. And the way they tap, tap, tapped against the books inside. I was pretty sure that sounds were the major thing that set me off. I was able to pinpoint it, actually. Most often it was the tap, tap, tap. Like if someone tapped their pencil on a desk repeatedly, I had to block it out of my hearing or I would go. The bell - the bell was bad too. It was like the coo coo clock, just randomly going off like that. It was actually a lot of things. A lot of things that I used to be able to push out, but for some reason it was as if I was going immune to it. Like the drug I was taking to stop my emotions and fears was actually just a placebo, and I was just fooling myself all along.

"Hey you!" That was bad too. That 'hey'. That 'hey you'. _They weren't talking to me. They were talking to someone else in the hallway. There could be other people in the hallway. _I walked faster. "Hey you! Wait!" I could have been jogging. I wasn't tripping over my feet. It was a miracle.

Then the physical signs began to show. The increased pulse, breathing rate, spotty vision. It was all there. I could feel it. I was losing control. It was that 'I am going to die' feeling. 'I am going to die'.

"Wait!" I turned a sharp corner. Dead end. One door. I tested the knob. Locked. I turned around.

He was coming towards me. He was coming towards me quickly. He was coming towards me and my vision was going black and then I was gone, gone. Gone.

"What the fuck did you do? What... what the fuck?"

"She's, I thought she was someone. The cop's daughter... I thought. I got a ticket, I wanted it lowered, Jesus, she's really freaking out... Jesus. Do I call the cops?"

"What? What... wait, what?"

"Wait, she's not shaking as hard now. Maybe I should check."

"Maybe you should get the fuck out of here."

"I was just trying to..."

"Do you want me to make you?"

Pause.

"Bella?"

Zap.

"Bella, do I call the hospital? I didn't mean to make it worse; did I make it worse?"

Zap. He kept touching me. But I was in my world now so it didn't really matter. It was nice, I guess. But I was shaking and that wasn't nice. I couldn't decide if I was dead. My heart was still beating fast, but I could feel my breathing. Feeling my breathing was soothing. I was in control of my breathing. I knew it was Edward because of the zap. I wondered if the zap left a mark on my skin. Something tangible. Probably not. I was probably just crazy.

"Jesus Christ... I don't know how I... Jesus Christ." I was pretty sure he was talking to himself. Maybe he was praying. Ha.

I sort of groaned because there was something underneath my cheek that was digging into it. Probably a rock or something. Probably not dead then.

"Jesus Christ. Okay. Okay."

All of a sudden I was surrounded and the electricity was too great and I flailed, and then I was dropped. Edward leaned against the wall, clutching his dick, his eyes clenched tight and his face slowly turning a bright red. My ass hurt from being dropped onto the floor. My head hurt too, 'cause it usually did after I freaked out like that. Edward let out a little pant, a little whimper. It was very unmanly. But afterward he seemed okay. He looked up at me, a little afraid, a little annoyed, and took his hands off his pants.

"Nice kick," he coughed. His voice was higher than it usually was and I wanted to laugh. I didn't.

"Do you need to go to the nurse?" I asked him. He rolled his eyes a bit.

"What, to get an icepack for my dick? That'll be a great conversation. Wait. Do _you _need to go to the nurse?"

"No."

"You were just groaning and shaking. You sort of looked like you OD'd. I think you should go to the nurse."

"I don't care."

"Why do you have to be such a bitch all the time, Bella? I was just trying to help." _Good question_.

"You were gone from Spanish for a long time, that's why I came," he said after I didn't answer for a good minute. I leaned my back up against the wall of the hallway. Edward stayed standing, defensive almost, his stance wide and his hands out of his pockets. But there was something else there. There was guilt there. Why guilt, I wasn't sure. But it was definitely there. I could see it.

"I don't mean to be a bitch." I sort of confessed it like it was a sin. Like I wasn't the mastermind behind my ingenious plot to be a bitch. And then something else came to my mind. It was strange, his sudden reappearances. I had seen him more in the past month than I had in the past three years. "Why are you always... why are you always here?" I was surprised by my own audacity. Maybe it was the strength I received from expelling my built-up emotions in the panic attack. Set off by... I couldn't even remember.

It took him off guard. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again.

"I just wanted... I mean we were friends and I thought... maybe we could..." he tripped over his words and his tongue. His demeanor changed and he sank to the floor, burying his face in his hands. "You were my best friend, Bella. I just want to know what changed. Or what happened, I guess. I don't know. I feel so awful about... I don't even know. About who I am, I guess. Does that sound stupid?" He made eye contact with me. It amazed me, that he could feel awful about who he was. I didn't understand what could possibly, _possibly_, in any universe could make _him _feel bad about himself. So I stared back. Blank. Uncomprehending. "I guess it does. Okay."

Some hint of social skills from my past told me that I had to at least attempt to connect with him.

"I once saw this show on MTV. I don't even remember what it was called, really. But it was these three people. I mean, really pretty. Like perfect actually. Perfect in everything. And they just hated themselves."

"I think I saw that." His chuckle was without humor.

"Is that... I mean... I don't really know..."

He looked up at me and, once again, his demeanor changed.

"I am such an ass. I find you, like, I don't even fucking know, dying? Fucking dying on the floor, I don't even know. And what do I do? I sit down and I just tell you my problems? What the fuck is that?" He pulled at his hair with his hands.

"It's okay..." He just looked so distraught.

"No it's not."

We were silent for a few moments. I was pretty sure that class was about to end. The bell would ring. Real life would commence and James would make me try his applesauce at lunch again.

"Will you ever tell me what happened?" His green eyes looked right into mine. Those eyes were so striking. So intelligent. It was possible I thought too highly of him. Too highly of Edward. But not those eyes. It was impossible to think too highly of those eyes. They were perfect.

I knew I had to talk to him. I had to tell him. Even if he hated me, he had to know.

So I opened my mouth to speak. I opened it right up.

And the bell rang.

***

**read the hunger games by suzanne collins it's sooooo friggin good**


	7. Chapter 7

***

I noted that Edward was trying to talk to me more. I could see him struggle in Spanish. Sometimes he would ask me for help, which was comical at best. But whenever he did need help, he would always ask me. One time he thought a picture was funny in the book so he pointed it out to me. It wasn't very funny so I didn't laugh. Thinking back on it, it was sort of rude for me to not to laugh. My delayed social cues were a real problem when it came to Edward. He was used to working with normal people. People who would pretend to laugh, pretend to remember an anecdote, or pretend to find him interesting. He was used to pretenders. I just wasn't a pretender.

James didn't help that. He was so straight forward, like a bullet. Nothing he said ever held any inhibition, and if something displeased him, he would write it off with a 'whatever'. I noticed he started growing his hair out from its former buzz. I never did find out why his hair was buzzed or if he had truthfully ever been to boot camp. For some reason I doubted it.

October 31st of that year happened to be a Friday, which made absolutely everyone ecstatic. Apparently Tanya was throwing a huge costume party that was invitation-only, but James was pretty partial to crashing it. Well, not crashing it per se, but definitely sneaking in through a window or pretending to tag along with an invited friend. It was all he talked about for at least a week.

We were sitting at lunch when his eyebrows suddenly raised; I knew exactly what he was going to bring up.

"So about the party." Surprise.

"You know I'm not going," I reminded him for the billionth time.

"Little B," he whined. Most of the time when he said my name he was whining.

"I don't want to go. That's that."

He huffed.

"So annoying all the time." He ate a spoonful of applesauce. His applesauce always looked like baby barf, and he always finished the tiny cup of it in less than two bites. Our eating habits were sort of synchronized. We would walk into the cafeteria together, take bites at the same time, and I would stop to allow James to make some outlandish remark. We both swallowed. Cue outlandish remark.

"What if I got you a cat costume?"

I had to try hard not visibly blanch at the idea.

"What if I stayed home and slept?"

"Sassy," he muttered, but I could tell he was pleased. I was pretty sure it was his mission to make me ballsier. Just in general, I guess. He took another bite of his applesauce. I took another bite of my peanut butter. He finished, throwing the plastic cup over my head. This time he managed to keep the remnants out of my hair. He sighed and stretched out, basically throwing himself across the plastic table. The freshman he danced with at homecoming looked at him every 5 or so seconds out of the corner of her eye. Then she started to gape.

"Please Little B. Please, please, please. I know a place where I can get paint for your car."

That surprised me.

"Really? For cheap?"

"Yeah, my friend can totally hook me up." That statement worried me because the only person I had ever seen him talk to was me. He saw my unwillingness to trust his statement. "Well not a friend really. A cousin. He's related to me so he has to talk to me. The point is I can get it, okay? But you have to come with me."

"When can you get it?" I asked, weighing my options.

"Today, I can get it today," he said, grinning. I wasn't sure why he was so concerned with me coming with him to the wretched party, but if he could get the services to paint my car out of its god-awful state of perpetual red, I was pretty sure it was a fair trade.

"Deal."

James spit in his hand and held it out to me.

"No thanks."

"Little B, it's not a deal unless you spit shake."

"I assure you, it's a deal in my mind."

"So sassy," he muttered with a smirk. "I'll pick you up at 8. Actually, no I won't. I'll come to your house at 6 with the costume. Okay? You can't punk out Little B, okay? I'll be so pissed if you punk out Little B, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." I waved him off, ready to face the second half of the school day.

Since Spanish was the second-to-last class of the day, everyone was already buzzing with excitement for the weekend's festivities. Edward smiled at me when I sat down. It was one of his weird half smiles that caused all of the girls to swoon. It wasn't like I didn't swoon. My swoons were just inside, rather than visible. We were halfway through the lesson when the candy-gram person came. It was just one of the kids on ASB, also known as the student government, dressed up as a zombie. Every time a candy gram kid came in, no matter the season, I always thought 'four for you Glen Coco, you go Glen Coco.'

That day was no exception. A couple of girls' names were called, causing them to emit squeals of delight and to have little baggies of candy corn placed on their desks. They were just about finished when they actually called my name, and I could tell even the ASB kids were surprised. The classroom fell completely silent when he walked over to me and handed me not one, but two smalls bags of candy corn. Heads craned around in their desks to look at me, staring at the little cards wrapped around the top of the bags that held who they were from.

The teacher commanded the class's attention and everyone reluctantly turned back around. I stared at the bags like they were foreign objects, stunned. I saw Edward looking at me from the corner of his eye, his hands balled into tight fists that turned his knuckles white. His poor pencil was a victim lodged in his right hand, threatening to snap.

The first bag was signed Jonas brother. I tried not to snort. That was definitely James. He liked to call himself the fourth Jonas. One, because he thought his voice was God's gift to earth, and, two, because James Jonas sounded just as cool, if not cooler, than Joe Jonas. At least that was what he said. I usually begrudgingly agreed, mostly just to get him to stop talking about the Jonas brothers.

The second bag, the second bag was from Edward. I audibly gasped when I looked at the tag, but for some reason I couldn't face him after I read it. I could see, in my peripheral vision, him trying to read my expression. His hands were still balled up tightly, the pencil shaking slightly. We didn't have a chance to talk until the last five minutes of class which were left open.

"Who's the other one from?" he snapped. I gaped at him, handing him the bag. He scowled, reading the tag. "Jonas brother? What the fuck?" The two people nearest to Edward, who were listening to our conversation, giggled.

"James," I clarified, a bit embarrassed. It was funny when it was just us two, but talking about something like the Jonas brothers outside of James just sounded stupid and lame. I chewed the inside of my cheek. Something about Edward's reaction was putting my nerves on edge, making me jumpy and paranoid and afraid. When Edward looked up he seemed to notice, and his expression softened. He calmly and slowly returned the baggie to my desk, muttering an apology along the way.

"I thought… I don't know. Well, mine, I mean, mine was a peace offering. That's what it was supposed to be, I mean," he said, gesturing with an open hand to the other baggie. The one that was signed with his name.

"I wasn't aware we were at war," I replied, furrowing my brow.

"Oh, we're not. I mean, that's not what I meant. Ugh. Everything I say with you is wrong," he grunted, reaching his hands up to pull at his hair again. I was pretty sure it was an unconscious thing that he did, reaching up like that to move all of his sex hair around.

"It's not you, it's me," I clarified, and he laughed at my cheesy line. "I mean, I'm the freak in this friendship… or whatever this is. It's not you." His laughter died out and he looked up at me.

"I don't think you're a freak."

I stuck a piece of the candy corn in my mouth. It was strange, small, sugary, sweet. It was strange because it wasn't the sticky consistency of peanut butter, and it couldn't be used to stop a conversation if I didn't like where it was headed. Thankfully, the bell rang, and I was able to dart out of there. I survived gym and both Edward and I acted as though nothing had happened in the period prior. Realistically, nothing did happen. Nothing anyone would talk about, except the fact that apparently the freaky, crazy girl with no friends actually received two bags of candy corn.

James showed up at 6 on the dot.

The first thing he said was, "you're getting in the shower, right now."

I couldn't blame him, I guess. It had been awhile. My resolve to shower at the beginning of the year had wavered dramatically. I still couldn't find the drive that would cause it to be worth anything. I wasn't showing off to anyone and I wasn't trying to impress anyone. Showering, make-up and nice clothes were just superfluous to me. I wouldn't allow James anywhere near me when I was changing or still in a towel, naturally. I may have drawn the process out a bit longer just because James had to suffer with Charlie alone in the kitchen.

The costume he supplied me was ridiculous so I switched the black short skirt for black pants, and the tank top was covered by a long-sleeved jacket. I did do the whole whispers and ears deal, but I couldn't really pull the whole look off.

"Little B, you look like you're going to rob someone," James said when I walked downstairs.

"Thanks," I grimaced. Charlie was staring at James. Just staring. It really was creepy, and I wondered how long James actually held his stare. Probably a long time. James didn't really back down from anything. He never knew when to back down. That was the problem. While I backed down from everything, James didn't back down from anything. We were a weird pair.

We ended up walking to the party. I didn't know Tanya lived so close to me, but apparently she was only two blocks down. There would have been nowhere to park anyways. When we arrived it was clear that the invitation-only aspect of the party had been rescinded as people were filing through the open door without a check. I didn't even know where they all came from. Many were unrecognizable, which was strange as Forks was a small place.

We filtered our way inside. It was packed, wall to wall. There wasn't music, just a beat that pulsed the people around in jolted, jumping movements. I followed James as closely as I could. It was very hot in there and in all black, I was quickly sweating. _Maybe it would be okay to take off my jacket_. I slipped it off and held it in my hands. It was as bare as I had been in years, in public. It was extremely uncomfortable, and I wrapped my arms around my stomach as we walked. It looked as though James was making his way to the kitchen, but I was struck by Tanya and Edward.

It surpassed any displays of affection I had seen in the past. They were pressed up against each other, fully flushed, grinding to the 'music'. Edward had Tanya pushed up against the wall with his forearms surrounding her face, and all I could see of his face was that it was pressed deeply into her strawberry blond curls. It was gut-wrenching, because, even though everyone at the party was doing it, that was different. That was Edward. And for some reason, it felt like I had been stabbed in the back. And it hurt. I saw her little hands pulling him closer by the sides of his shirt, stretching the fabric, revealing the perfect, toned skin underneath. I couldn't look away. I just couldn't.

"Little B?" It was James. He turned around and called out to me when he noticed I stopped. Simultaneously, Edward's head snapped up. He turned his head and stared right at me. We were both frozen.

"Little B?" He shook my arm and I turned, looking at him. "What's the deal with you? Come on. What's the deal?"

I felt like I was going to throw up. Overwhelming nausea.

"I have to go," I whispered.

"But --"

I didn't hear his protest. I was already too deep in the crowd, searching for the door. Everyone's bodies were the same, and when I looked at them, all I saw were Edward and Tanya. Edward and Tanya together in a way I had never experienced, not really. They were so close to each other and I was just there watching. Like a pervert.

Someone knocked into me on my way out the door and it was all I could do to not fall to the floor right there. I finally saw the door, and pushed people out of my way with all of my strength. There were grunts of protest but I didn't care. I just wanted to get out of the pulsing beat and into the black night. It was so much worse than homecoming, though it was the same thing, I guess. Homecoming was just a neutered, watered-down version of the house parties. I had to get out.

The cool night air hit my like a wall, but the abrupt change did not affect the feelings broiling in me. I ran through the yard, as way from as many people as possible, and vomited into a bush. I wiped my mouth with my palm. My former despair transformed to anger. To anger at myself for jumping to unrealized conclusions. Anger at being angry at Edward, even though I had no reason to be. Anger at myself, at being so weak. Anger at James for dragging me here. So when someone touched my shoulder, I turned around with my fist raised, prepared to punch.

"Woah." It was Edward. Unsurprising, I guess. He backed away from me with his hands held up and open. I realized I was wielding my palm as a weapon, and I slowly lowered it to my side.

"I didn't expect --"

"We've fucked, Bella."

I knew he meant him and Tanya. He was just laying it all out there. Waiting for my reaction.

"So I guess the celibacy club is a lie."

He let out a guffaw.

"I guess."

He walked me home that night. We were silent the entire way.

***


	8. Chapter 8

**thank you sosososososo much to everyone on the ravelry forums, especially dihenydd(:**

**eternally grateful**

**oh, and this chapter is your fault. haha**

***

_Flashback_

***

I didn't think they expected you to be prepared. I mean, how anyone could be prepared for the massive jump that was fifth to sixth grade was ludicrous. Even Edward came over to my house every night for a week. It was the last week of summer, the last week of complete childhood innocence. It was the last week before entering Jr. High and the last week I would view Edward as my friend, true and true.

"I bet you're nervous, huh." He acted like he wasn't. He ate my grapes on my couch and acted like he wasn't nervous.

"So are you," I accused him, grabbing a handful of grapes before he could eat them. Edward just rolled his eyes. His attempt at bravado was so weak that I laughed out loud. He glared at me, angry that I wasn't impressed by his skills. He had a friend that lived next door to him who was a year older. His name was Emmett, and he had successfully scared Edward silly with stories of the wicked, awkward years.

We thought he was exaggerating.

He wasn't.

Emmett told Edward that the key to survival would be to act tough. Essentially, to show no fear. That was especially important to those boys who were smaller. Those were the targets. That's what Emmett said. He didn't warn Edward about the girls. He didn't know that girls were equally, if not more dangerous than the boys. If the boys fought, one wound up with a suspension and a bloody nose. If girls fought, one wound up secluded with a broken psych.

Edward was prepared. I wasn't.

"You'll walk to the bus with me, right?" Edward and I had walked to the bus together since 2nd grade, the very first day he moved to Forks. Charlie, one of Edward's father's first friends, asked me to go over and make sure he knew where the bus stop was. After that, we never stopped walking together.

Edward paused.

"I can't, Bella. Emmett says that boys have to stick with boys now. You will make me look girly and that is bad. What if I have no friends?" I was shocked. He was being completely serious, acting as though he had thought his plan out for any shortfall. No doubt he came up with it with Emmett. I didn't have an Emmett. I just had an Edward.

"But I'm your friend," I protested.

"Yeah but you're a _girl_." He ate the last grape. "Shoot! I have to be home in five minutes. I'll see you tomorrow though. Maybe we'll have classes together."

"Maybe," was all I could offer before he shut the door behind him.

I couldn't sleep that night, and woke up the next morning to my dark brown eyes ringed with hazy gray circles. With my only parent a male, I had no access to any make-up save for some eye shadow that was awful neon blue. I got it in a party favor. I spent two days wearing it over the summer, but I stopped when Edward asked why it looked like my eyes were falling out of their sockets. I looked at the eye shadow with dubious curiosity that morning, but decided on my safe first-day-of-school outfit. Conservative and neutral, my first day dress showed very little skin. It was paired with tights and plain shoes.

To my surprise Charlie gathered all of my stuff and placed it on the table, along with a lunch with my name printed clearly on the paper bag.

Edward never showed up at the bus stop. I found out later, much later, that Emmett's mother had driven him to school along with Emmett. I didn't know that day, though. So when the bus pulled up and he still wasn't there, I considered requesting the bus driver to stop and wait for him. I didn't, of course, seeing the stares of all of the older kids on the bus. But I kept his house in sight until we rounded the corner, waiting to see the mass of auburn hair spring from the door. It never did.

The school was big. It was much bigger than our elementary school and intimidating at best. Because Edward was my only friend from elementary, I wandered the halls alone in search of any form of security. It never came.

Edward wasn't in any of my classes.

I didn't have any girl friends. I didn't know how.

The day I got my period I wasn't surprised. I knew what it was, anyways. I knew it from health. I knew the logistics of it. What I didn't know was the way that it stained underwear and jeans, and leaked when I tried to sleep at night. I didn't know how to use a tampon, and the first time I purchased pads from the local grocery store I was mortified. I did it myself, walked the whole way. I couldn't ask Charlie to do that for me. That would have been even worse than subjecting myself to the store clerk.

I changed rapidly in the middle of sixth grade. With my rapid physical changes came rapid emotional ones. That, I wasn't prepared for. They didn't talk about raging hormones in health. They just talked about sex and STDs and babies and death. Especially babies and death. There was a lot of babies and death.

I grew taller than Edward and I grew more developed. I was early, and that was weird. I had to defend my weirdness.

Edward and I would spend time together outside of school. I knew he was still nervous about talking with me in front of his friends, and I tried not to let that bother me. It was worse when I grew taller than him. He was still short, really short. Short and skinny, and standing next to a girl who was bigger in both ways just made him look smaller. Edward did have a good group of friends, too. They seemed nice enough. I didn't really know any of them, but I had no problem with them.

I excelled in art. A few of my pieces were submitted by my teacher to a national competition where I placed third in my division. Charlie was ecstatic. He even framed the painting, just a picture of a lone bird, flying during sunset. He hung it in the living room above our small green couch. I showed it to Edward. He looked at it for awhile, but I could tell he didn't get it. He didn't understand the desolation in the painting.

"Pretty bird," he offered.

"Thanks." I stifled my disappointment.

Jessica's first day.

She was a geek, no doubt about it. But she was a loner, even if it wasn't of her own accord. She was just like me, in a way. She was in my history class and we both sat in the back. I made it my mission to make her my friend. I wanted her to be my friend so badly.

She started coming to my house after school. She showed me nail polish and her training bra collection. I borrowed my first bra from her. I really needed it. She really didn't. She invited me over to her house once. It was in the relatively wealthy half of town. She had a large room with a queen bed and unicorns taped onto the ceiling so she could watch them dance on rainbows when she fell asleep.

"I didn't even want these unicorns," she said.

I was pretty sure she was embarrassed by those unicorns.

"I like them, I think."

I was pretty sure she wanted me to approve of her unicorns.

"Really?"

I was pretty sure she needed me to be more emphatic.

"For sure."

She smiled at me, her braces glinting in the moonlight, and I was pretty sure our conversation was a success.

At the beginning of seventh grade I discovered that I could make Jessica do what I wanted. If I asked her to do something, she would do it. Just like that. Since Edward didn't seem to have much time for me anymore, I filled it with Jessica. Jessica was the one that introduced me to _him _anyways. He was her cousin's friend. At the time he was still in High School, and he played running back on the JV football team. Whenever Jessica's cousin would pick her up from school, he would be in the car.

He lounged in the back, the car's window parted slightly, allowing the cigarette smoke to leak out the window in a slight stream of grey. He intrigued me. At that time all of the girls started talking about the boys. Especially the tall boys, or the boys with deeper voices. The High School boys. A girl's older brother. The unattainable eighth graders. The boys with long hair. The _boys_.

Jessica dated a boy named Mike. He was in our grade, so it wasn't that big of a deal, but at the same time it was. He had short spiky blond hair and they would hug every time they met at her locker. I couldn't deny it, I was jealous.

I would watch Edward after that. I would consider him. He was getting a bit taller. He was still shorter than me. But he was a boy, after all. Edward never looked at me though. He would still come to my house after school, but it was just to explore in the woods behind my house or watch television while doing the occasional bit of homework. We were friends. We weren't best friends, but we were friends. And I knew I saw Edward in a different way than he saw me.

And I would rather be dead than bring it up.

But Jessica's cousin's friend – he was different.

Not only was he older, but he was mature. He was the epitome of everything that would make me cool. It was bad enough that Jessica had a boyfriend before me. I would have to do one better. And I did.

I stopped by the garage that he worked in.

"Hey," I said, lounging against the roof of an out-of-commission car. I borrowed a shirt from Jessica that exemplified the little amount of cleavage that I had. He slid out from underneath the car, grease smattered on his face.

"What?" he asked. That was the first time I ever saw his tongue ring.

"Oh, I was just looking around. It's pretty cool in here. I mean, I was just looking."

"Oh." He slid back underneath the car. Damn.

I called Edward that night. He answered the phone on the third ring.

"What's up, Bella?" he asked. I could tell when he didn't have friends over. When he had friends over he said 'sup'. When he didn't have friends over he tacked my name onto the end of the greeting.

"Do you want to come over?"

"I guess."

He biked over. He had a red bike. There was one innocent summer where we were obsessed with our bikes. We even tried to paint them with watercolors to make it look as though they were racing bikes. It didn't work. We would bike into the woods and go off the path. No one ever stopped us. One day Edward's bike snagged on a loose branch and stuck in the dirt. He flipped over his handlebars, slamming into the ground. I pulled both bikes home while he cried.

He parked his bike outside and we sat on the couch. I fidgeted with my hands but he didn't notice.

"Do you think we could be friends at school now?" I asked. I didn't know if the rules had changed since sixth. I figured I'd give it a shot.

"Aren't you friends with that girl with brown hair?"

"Jessica?"

"Yeah, her."

"Yeah I am, I guess."

"Okay cool."

We sat in silence for a bit. Edward did that thing where he pulled on his cheek and it sounded like a drop of water. I thought about Jessica. She had a boyfriend, right? They hugged and stuff. He was Edward's age. It was possible that Edward would want to be my boyfriend, right? I scooted closer to him. He didn't notice. I inched my pinky close to his. Closer and closer still. He didn't notice.

They touched.

He noticed.

"What are you doing?" he laughed. Sometimes when he laughed he snorted a little bit.

"Oh, I-I don't know," I stammered.

"You are so weird sometimes, Bella." He left after that.

I didn't talk to Edward as much. I tried not to talk to him at all. He would call me after school and I wouldn't answer. Charlie gave some excuse like too busy, or that I didn't want to talk. Jessica got more serious with Mike. She would tell me about letting him touch her and kissing with tongue. She gained more audacity when she spoke to me. She took down the unicorns on her ceiling. She was leaving me behind.

It was the beginning of eighth grade that I decided my plan of action. I threw myself on _him_. He began to notice. He noticed when I leaned over the roof of the cars he worked on, showing him what I had to offer. He noticed when I brought him food at work. He noticed when I wore short skirts with playful underwear and stood above him. He began to take notice.

He showed me things. Things I didn't even know existed. He gave me experience. I would tell Jessica things. She would tell the school. Everyone knew. Everyone knew about me and I could shove my superiority in all of their faces. Jessica and I bought thongs for fun. We made her cousin buy us cigarettes. We told our stories in the girl's bathroom.

We were all that. We were the talk of the school.

And because of that, because of all that, Edward didn't matter to me anymore.

***

**next chap will continue after what happened in ch 7**

**this basically ended right before ch 1**

**thanks for reading(:**


	9. Chapter 9

**fats/humanshield --- shout out(x  
ps go read the valediction**

***

It was when we were walking home that I noticed Edward wasn't wearing a costume. It seemed cheap to me, to go to a Halloween party without even wearing one. I absently fingered the cat ears that adorned my head in a headband, and instantly felt ridiculous just by having them on. With a huff I pulled it off my head and threw it in the dirt, stomping it with my foot. Edward let out a light chuckle at my outburst but made no mention of it. The night was dark and surprisingly dry, uncommon for late October. It was the time of night that most of the trick-or-treaters had returned indoors, though a few still ran about with pillowcases bouncing at their hips. Edward scuffled along beside me, his bare feet (why they were bare, I wasn't sure) raking against the black asphalt.

"You can go back now." I felt the need to release him of imagined obligation.

He looked over his shoulder and frowned at something, and when he turned back to face me he looked puzzled.

"I'd rather stay, if that's okay." It was sort of like he was asking me permission. It was almost funny, in a way.

We approached my house at a steady rate. I could see from just outside that Charlie had fallen asleep on the couch during his wait for me. The window's blinds were drawn wide open and the light blared above his head. The TV was playing some football game most likely on repeat, and Charlie's legs dangled haphazardly off of the couch. His mouth opened and closed in inaudible snores. The night was growing colder and I felt a shiver run up my spine, causing me to shake suddenly.

"Do you want to go inside?" he asked.

He assumed I would let him inside.

"Sure."

Of course I would let him inside.

We sneaked carefully past Charlie and tip-toed to my bedroom. He followed me through the hallway, at which point I immediately opened the window and cracked the door. I didn't scream before, but if it happened again... if it happened again, I would scream. Edward stood in the middle of my bedroom, circling on the spot, his eyes wide and his mouth upturned in a small smile.

"You didn't change a thing," he grinned. He touched one of the dolls. He touched the one with its head missing. "What happened to its head?"

"James," I explained, shrugging slightly. Edward huffed and sighed like a caveman.

"He shouldn't have brought you to that party."

"That isn't your judgment to make."

"Well that's the way I feel, Bella."

I sat down on the bed and he sunk himself beside me. We weren't touching, for I would have felt the wonderful and simultaneously frightening electricity if we were, but we were close enough so I could experience a gentle hum. His weight caused the bed to sink in slightly on itself, a downward slope to his lap. It was strange, seeing the older Edward transplanted into my bedroom. Sure, he had been there dozens of times during dozens of years, but never like this. Never like this. He scratched at the stubble on his face, just another reminder of how much my Edward had changed, and continued perusing my bedroom with his eyes. I coughed lightly but he wouldn't make eye contact with me. I could tell by the deep set of his brow and the light etches of deepened wrinkle that he was thinking.

His cell phone buzzed and caused me to jump and scuttle away from him like a scared crab. Vibrate.

He glanced at the screen for a moment, and shut it just as quickly with an apathetic snap. He sighed and finally turned towards me, his green eyes, damn those green eyes, resolute.

"Do you talk to James?"

"Of course I talk to James."

"But did you tell him, Bella. Did you _tell _him?" I watched him wring his hands together in his lap. I pretended not to know what he was getting at.

"Tell him what?" I was pretending.

"Stop lying!" He knew I was pretending. His voice was harsh. He had a quick temper. He always had a quick temper.

"No, I didn't tell him," I snapped in return. Angry tears of loss and regret peeked recklessly from the corners of my eyes. I tried to brush them away subtly but one escaped, running a smooth path down my cheek. He watched it with his eyes, that tear. The only tear I made no move to stop. It came to rest on my upper lip where his eyes froze. I couldn't take the penetrating stare any longer. I couldn't take that stare. I couldn't take it so I rubbed the tear away with a quick swipe of my arm.

His eyes snapped to my own.

"I tried to be there Bella, I tried. You wouldn't let me in. Why wouldn't you let me in?" His tone was angry, almost accusatory. I could see his hand flex, clutching the pink blanket that draped over my bed, knuckles white.

"You don't understand," I gasped.

"You don't _let _me understand!"

I stood up and walked to the window, allowing the cool wind to dispel some of my emotions. The air was refreshing on my face, and with its distraction I was able to ignore Edward's presence in my room. He didn't understand. He would never understand. Of course I wouldn't allow him the chance to. It was a ridiculous notion, even in theory. Yet there he sat, awaiting an explanation as if it were his God-given right to receive one. In a way, it was utterly despicable. And he expected it.

I turned around to find him still sitting stoic on my bed, his eyes trained on my own as if glue held them there. But at the same time, there was something different about them. They, too, held the liquid quality of unshed tears. His body held the tension of awaited refusal. He wasn't expecting it. He was expecting nothing. He sat there and expected nothing from me. I sat down beside him once more, my breath coming in small, quick gusts of air. He turned towards me slightly, just a bit angled.

"Oh, you don't have to tell me." His voice broke on the last word and I could feel his fingers lightly brush the hair away from my face.

"I do have to." How the tables had turned. I felt I owed Edward at least an explanation. After all, my actions weren't his fault. Perhaps his actions had contributed to my own, but I could only blame myself for my own actions. He hadn't taken control of my limbs and forced me. It was all on my own accord, and I had to take the blame for it. I had to accept that, and, at least to Edward, I had to explain. I told him, in no uncertain terms, of my descent in the latter years of seventh to eighth. He listened patiently, all the while keeping his breath in steady measurements, which increased only barely during the course of my story. Whenever I mentioned his name - perhaps my notice of him not appreciating my art, or the fact that he never showed up to the bus that first day - he let out a small gasp of shock. He had no idea his actions had any effect on me. Just as I, him.

During the harder parts I had to stop more than once, as the confessional brought on stirrings of emotions I had long since pressed deep within. Edward's hesitated touch found my shoulder blades. Though at first I jumped, I allowed him to gently rub the spot there, back and forth in a soothing pattern. It was calming really, and the gentle electricity hummed deep into my bones, warming them from within. This was not apathetic Edward. It was not distant Edward or strange Edward or misunderstanding Edward. It was my Edward, plain and simple, pure and true. And he sat with me. Countless hours we sat on that bed, tears from two sources occasionally dripping down only to be swallowed by the cotton pink comforter.

Eventually I stopped talking. My voice just dried up, I guess. But Edward still sat there. His phone was turned off, the window was letting in the faintest bit of light, and Charlie's snores could still be heard, soft and steady, from the downstairs.

"I didn't know." Like a confession, he whispered the phrase. Yes, he didn't know. And that was no fault but my own.

"...no." My weak protest, only for his self-blame.

"If I had known, I could have helped. I should have known. I should have done something." His words were too loud for early morning. I just wanted calm. I wanted calm.

"It wasn't -"

"How dare you be self-sacrificing? It wasn't your fault. That's what it wasn't." His words sort of jumbled up in my brain. Their patterns didn't make sense. I just wanted to sleep. I wanted calm.

As if recognizing this, Edward lay us down on my small bed. I turned to face the wall, eager to be rid of consciousness. The light breeze on my face was just a security blanket, just in case I needed to escape. But it was Edward. And though I didn't trust him, I trusted him with my secrets. And that was more than anyone else. He lay on the edge of the bed, almost falling off, yet his hand never ceased its calming rub between my shoulder blades.

Never ceased until I fell asleep. Never ceased until I was calm.

I awoke as if seconds later to the sound of a very familiar click. I rubbed my eyes with my fists, shocked to find Edward's face but inches from my own, his eyes closed and his mouth drooling on my nice clean pillow. And then I noticed the gun, held in the shaking hands of Charlie, just inches from the top of Edward's head.

"Dad, wait!" My screech startled Edward awake. He jumped up, knocking his head into the butt of the gun and wincing. He sort of mumbled something and then obtained his bearings, glancing just once from Charlie to me. And then he knew what was going on. That was when he held his hands up in surrender.

"Chief Swan, this isn't what it looks like."

But Charlie's hands were still shaking and he wasn't listening and his hair was messed up on one side from sleeping on the couch all night.

"We were just talking. That's all we were doing, just talking. I swear by it." I didn't know if he was ever a cub scout, but he definitely attempted the sign of oath. "Please, Chief."

"Dad, it's okay. Really. We were just talking," I emphasized, standing up beside Edward. I could see how Charlie would view our situation in completely the wrong way, and that was not helping measures any.

He came back to life.

"Get out," Charlie said wearily. I expected him to be angry. I expected him to spit out obscenities. Yet he simply looked at me, sad eyes and sad heart, just weary. Weary for always having to protect his only daughter. Weary for expending so much effort, so much stress, on a daily basis. Weary because all of my actions never ceased to bring him to an early grave. I scolded myself for being so careless, as allowing Edward to fall asleep in my bed was utterly foolish in its naïveté. I was ashamed.

Edward mumbled some sort of goodbye, mentioned something about calling him, and left.

Charlie sighed out loud and sheathed the gun, hiding his emotions, and left.

And then I was left. I was left with the consequences of my actions, a virtually empty house, and what? And nothing. Edward's malleable understanding, seeming so far away after his departure. Charlie's disapproval and sleeplessness, brought on by my carelessness, always. Even James and his constant, perpetual nonexistence. My own restlessness, conscious anything but cleared after my admittance. I tread down the stairs of early morning with a heavy gait, staring at the open refrigerator in numb acceptance. I began taking out ingredients. Just anything in the fridge that we had, I pulled it onto the counter. It was only then that I realized we had the exact right amount for beef stew.

So that's what I did. The recipe took hours to cook. It was designed that way. It lulled me, making that beef stew.

The beef stew. Just how my mom used to make it.

***

**edward knows!!!111!!!11  
review?**


	10. Chapter 10

***

**another shout out to fats just for shits and giggles  
go read tlydf (the lazy yet discerning ficster). go read it now. -dies-**

***

James came over and we watched 90s cartoons. They were playing them on Nickelodeon during a weird flashback day for all of the depressed and nostalgic twenty-somethings. James knew every line to every single episode of Catdog we watched. It was really creepy, especially when he would act out the scenes without even looking at the TV. At the fourth go-round of James belting out the theme song I got annoyed enough to turn it off with a click.

"Party pooper," he muttered.

"Who even says that anymore?" I countered.

"What do you know?" I rarely saw James get angry, but when he did, it was like lightening hitting a tree. One second it was just a calm stalk swaying in the breeze, and the next the leaves were burning and the branches were engulfed in flame. He didn't have any sort of filter, and his actions were out of control and frightening. He stood up and towered over me, in response to which I pushed myself deeper into the sofa. Simultaneously, Charlie took a peek into the living room (as he had been doing every 10 minutes for the entirety of the morning).

"What are you doing?" Charlie barked, alarmed by our proximity and hyper-aware since the Edward incident.

"Leaving," James replied, cool and calm and cooperative.

Charlie grumbled his discontent as James left through the front door. I trembled on the couch but attempted to brush it off. Charlie sat down next to me, his weight sinking into the sofa and eclipsing the impression James left. The pair of us in the same room was awkward at best. I coughed just to make noise.

"Don't you have homework, Belly?" Belly. Ugh.

I then realized he was giving me an out.

"Yes."

I spent the rest of the night in my room, the sun slowly dying outside of my small window, casting slanted, creeping shadows. I fell asleep late but even later than that, Charlie entered my room with a light rap on my door. I looked up at him, perplexed as he crossed the floor to sit on the edge of my bed, perched awkwardly with held breath. I couldn't even remember the last time he had voluntarily entered my room. I couldn't even remember.

"Bell." His eyes were pretty red. Pretty bloodshot and pretty red.

"What's wrong?"

Charlie was a simple man. I mean, he knew what was right from what was wrong and he followed his practices with the straight shot of a bullet (literally). He was only black and white, plain and clear, and there was no grey area. That was why he became a cop, really. Because he knew he could judge people. He could judge them to see if they were good, or if they were evil. And if they were evil he could shoot them, convict them, do something about them. And if they were good he could set it right. But that night he shot me a smile, a tricky smile after I asked him what was wrong, and I knew there were facets of Charlie I had no idea existed. I had no idea and I never would.

"Nothing, Bell." He even chuckled a little bit. "Nothing is wrong."

"Ok..."

"I was just thinking, have you ever considered any girlfriends? I mean, friends that are girls." His cheeks blushed the faintest bit pink.

"I don't get along with girls very well." We looked at each other for a few moments. Charlie seemed as though he wanted to say more, but instead held his tongue and nodded minutely.

"Well," he said, his tone returning to the gruff, guarded tenor I'd grown to love, "I'll see you in the morning, then."

"Goodnight."

He walked to the door, hesitating.

"Oh and Bell? I..." He paused.

"What?"

"I, I know you hate it when I call you Belly." For some reason, my heart sunk to my feet. Our relationship wasn't ever verbal in our love for each other, but the absence of the word hit harder than I allowed to admit.

"Goodnight, Dad." He nodded and closed the door behind him, engulfing me in darkness.

/

I felt out of place, walking through my old school at an older age. Everything seemed smaller and decrepit, yet it even made me slightly nostalgic in the same way that compelled adults to watch old cartoons. I ran my fingers across the desks and traipsed through the hall, skipping and twirling. I was wearing a skirt, one of those long ones that brushed against my knees, and every skip caused it to flutter like a butterfly in the breeze. I could hear children laughing. Young children, not children that would be in a middle school.

Elementary-aged. They were laughing. I could hear it. It was pretty far off from where I was, but I was sure the laughter was in the school somewhere. I continued my walk through the halls, touching the rusted lockers and tacked posters, listening to the tinkling laughter of young children. Perhaps they were visiting. Perhaps they were older than I thought. Perhaps they were sixth year.

It was when I reached the middle of the long hall that represented most of the school that the sound changed. The happy laughter transformed to wailing cries. And it wasn't a bunch of children joining in a chorus of laughter, but one solitary person, just one, crying. I could hear the whimpers and sniffling and I just wanted to help. I ran to the sound of the voice. I ran so hard that my lungs burned and my feet flew beneath me, yet it was as though I had not moved at all. The hallway was never-ending, the doors and lockers and windows simply repetitions of each other, like a broken slide on a motion picture.

Ages later I turned the corner at the end of the hall. I was getting closer. The crying was louder, the innocent child infinitely more desperate. I was trying as hard as I could to reach the crying. I was trying as hard as I could.

There was one open door. I remembered it distinctly to be the art studio. Light filtered out the opening and flooded the hallway in an eerie half-halo. I hadn't noticed how dark it was before I saw the light of the art studio. The sound of crying and desperation magnified in my ears and echoed in my brain. I was pulled by it, pulled by the broken child, pulled into the room. Upon the threshold I could see the small body. Gender, I couldn't decipher. Whoever it was, was huddled in the far corner of the room, head in between their knees, shaking.

"I can help you." My voice was slow. All of the canvases in the room were blank white mirrors.

The child didn't respond. The child shook harder.

"Let me _help _you." I felt more insistent, but I sounded the same. My skirt, formerly flowing freely, fell limp around my legs. Dead weight.

I took a step forward.

One more.

One more.

A tapping came from behind me. Tap, tap, tap. I cringed. The child shook. I wouldn't turn.

Tap, tap, tap.

The child was crying. I couldn't help. I couldn't turn. I couldn't run. I couldn't do anything. I was useless. It was me. It was me. It was all on me. It was all me.

Tap, tap, tap.

"Bella."

/

I woke up with a scream, a heavy male body hovering over me. Too close, too close. A hand on my shoulder. Touching and warmth and putrid, sticky sheets.

"Don't touch me!" I pressed myself into the wall behind my bed. My heart thumped rapidly in my chest. I could feel it beating against my ribcage, straining. The sheets were wrapped around my legs and the lighting of my room was still dim and cloaked in darkness. I began to focus, sift imagination from reality, stare at my captor. Charlie; his mouth agape and his brow furrowed. It looked as though he were afraid to speak.

"I heard you screaming," he admitted after a few moments. He still wore his clothes for the day, though they were wrinkled as though he had fallen asleep in them. I wrapped my arms around my knees, feeling the thin sheen of sweat on my skin.

"Nightmare. Just a nightmare," I explained, but my voice shook like the child I so distinctly remembered. Charlie sighed and shook his head. Not ashamed, just helpless. Always helpless. He stood and made for the door. I must have awoken him mid-sleep with my screaming, my screaming and crying and nightmares.

"Oh Bells. Let's just try to finish up the night," he said on his way to the door. At the last minute he turned around, stating, "and remember: It wasn't your fault."

The rest of my sleep was dreamless, much to my satisfaction. The morning came with drowsiness from the restless nightmare, and the evidence showed plain and clear on my face. Eyes ringed with black circles from sleep deprivation, I arrived at school like a walking zombie. James greeted me near the front as we waited for first to start. He didn't talk. He did hold my hand, though. It wasn't a romantic gesture, simply a comforting one. I only let him touch me because my hand was gloved from the cold.

Edward tried to talk to me in Spanish. I wouldn't respond because I couldn't respond. I was drained. I just couldn't.

I sat by James at lunch. He ate his applesauce in silence. James had a strange intuition when it came to me. He knew what I was feeling. He knew when I wouldn't want to talk. He often knew where I was and what I was doing, as well. He threw the applesauce over my head.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, his tone soft. His hair was growing to the point where the spiky buzz was loose strands falling over his forehead. He had a scar above his right eye that slit straight through his eyebrow, almost as if a knife slashed it clean and simple. The scar was hard to see if one wasn't looking close enough, but I could see it. That small scar, permanently prohibiting the growth of eyebrow hair, darker than the rest of his skin.

"No," I answered and ate some more peanut butter. He nodded and plucked at his infected ear piercing. That damn thing was always infected. I just wanted to take some alcohol and dump it on his head.

"Hey, can we just forget about the weekend?" He actually sounded timid, sheepish even. "Hey, I mean, I didn't ditch you at the party. I tried to follow you, and you disappeared, y'know? But I tried. And then I got mad and shit. I mean, everyone gets mad and shit at times, y'know?"

"I guess."

"Except you."

"Except me what?"

He paused. He pointed his spoon at me. It still had a bit of applesauce on it.

"You never get mad." The way he said it made it accusatory. It made it sound like it was a horrible thing, that I never got mad.

"I get mad sometimes," I defended myself with lame effort.

"I'll believe that when I see it," he snorted. He began drumming on the desk with his fingertips. After a few moments I was pretty sure I recognized the song. As he drummed I watched the door to the cafeteria. Students filed in and out, dumping their food in the trash and making their way into the halls. It was then that I noticed, for the first time that day, that Edward wasn't at his table (which was ridiculous, because I usually looked for Edward every five minutes or so). Tanya was there, but Edward wasn't.

My eyes scanned the cafeteria for his form, no doubt surrounded by loads of people.

I still couldn't see him.

I did see Tanya, giggling and draped over a boy named Alec. I did a double-take.

"Little B, what's up? You look like somebody shot your cat."

I didn't listen to him. I was too busy watching. Watching Alec and Tanya. Who kissed. Right there. At the table. I turned almost 360 degrees, scanning the cafeteria for Edward. Surely, he had seen that display? Surely, he would call her an adulteress? She was wearing that blasphemous 'A', right out in the open, for the whole world to see. Surely, he had seen.

But he hadn't, for moments after it was over, Edward trudged into the cafeteria. His eyes were bloodshot and watery, and his body was hunched over, head hung low. The spark in those intelligent eyes, those green, green eyes, was gone.

And just like that, I was mad.

***


	11. Chapter 11

***

**thanks to angstgoddess003 for the uber recs & anyone else who has rec'd me  
............ FATS  
maylin**

***

"Little B?" James actually sounded nervous. I couldn't imagine the facial expressions I was making. All I felt was my anger. My anger and my eyes, darting back and forth. Edward sat down alone at a table that was usually used to advertise club posters. He didn't eat. He lay his head down in his arms and obscured my view of his face. "Little B?" James chirped again like an annoying bird. I just wanted him to shut up.

"Will you take my peanut butter? Here, take my peanut butter. Take it." I shoved the can at James. It ricocheted off of his arms but he snatched it up. His eyes were wide, amazed, but I could barely register it. I stood up too fast and knocked my knee against the table. It throbbed a bit but I ignored it. I walked right over to him. Right over to him.

I slapped his shoulder with a resounding thwack.

"What the fuck?" Edward looked up at me. His cheeks were wet. I was disgusted. "Bella?"

"You're just going to let her do that. I can't... I can't even believe you. I can't believe you. I can't believe you're letting her do that." I was shouting louder than I'd ever shouted in years. People began to look over, and like clockwork, my paranoia responded. I swallowed and force myself to only focus on Edward. To only focus on how _stupid _he was acting. And I knew he was better than that. I knew it. He didn't even respond. He just stared at me, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. A dumb fish.

And before I could even comprehend my own actions, I slapped him across the face.

The cafeteria was completely silent.

The clean sound of the slap ripped across the expanse of the room and echoed, echoed. Edward raised his hand slowly to cover the red welt that was beginning to form on his cheek. His mouth still opened and closed like a fish. My chest was heaving with unneeded breaths. It was quickly becoming too much. I stared down at him. Ashamed and overwhelmed and angry. Not ashamed at myself, no. But ashamed at Edward. For letting her, her of all people, walk all over him. Like roadkill.

Dead fish roadkill.

"Little B. Little B, come on," James was tugging at my arms, his voice the only sound in the cafeteria. He was only whispering, but his voice was shrill to all of the sensitive ears. "You'll get suspended, little B, come _on_." I went almost limp and James succeeded in pulling me out of the crowded room. Even after we turned the far corner of the hall, the cafeteria was still completely silent. James sat me down in the art room and stood above me, as if he were my parent and he was deciding the proper way to scold. He huffed a deep breath, crossed his arms, sighed, tapped his foot. All of the mannerisms were bothering the hell out of me.

"Spit it out," I ordered. His eyes widened again.

"Who are you and what have you done with little B?"

"What?"

"Who are you?"

"What do you want?"

"No, little B. Wrong."

I pulled at my hair. Our conversation wasn't making any sense. I groaned, our moments of silence allowing me to reflect on my actions. Who was that girl? James was right. That wasn't me. That wasn't me. I moved over to a desk and lay my head on my arms, numbed. I couldn't take out the past half hour. I couldn't erase it and make it all go away. James relaxed his arms and sat across from me, tapping my arms a couple of times with the tips of his fingers.

"I want you to change, little B," he said softly, "but I want you to change for the better."

The steady ticking of the clock was the only ambiance in the room, though I eventually heard the near-silent footsteps of my teacher enter. She paid us no mind, which pleased me. James drummed softly on the table. It was becoming a comforting sound, the light patter on the worn plastic. It felt as if I were going to fall asleep until the bell jolted me awake. Lunch was over. James gathered his stuff to go to his next class. The aftershock of my outburst in the cafeteria awaited my arrival in gym. I rubbed my temples in weariness, deciding that today would be a good day to skip a class. Detention would be worth it. James never said goodbye, but as he was walking out I heard his footsteps fall to a stop.

"You, get out here." The angry James took over. The angry, hunter, enraged James took over. I looked up, afraid he was talking to me.

He wasn't.

"Bella, Bella I need to fucking talk to you. Right now. Right fucking now." Edward was looking over the head of James as if he didn't exist. And Edward was fuming.

"I said, get out of here." James held his anger with ease. Calm and collected, he was infinitely more menacing than Edward.

"You are a hypocrite. A fucking hypocrite. Bella -"

James punched him in the gut. I yelped, and the art teacher jumped up, running around us, completely useless.

"Don't fight! Don't fight!" Her high-pitched, lilting voice was completely ignored amidst the testosterone. I knew only I could keep James from causing Edward any serious damage.

"James, let me talk to him," I said, mostly against my will. Edward was coughing his lungs back to life as James stood over him, fist raised. Ms. Miner looked frantic. Then again, she always looked frantic.

"You're dumb, little B." _I know_. He slowly walked around the defenseless Edward, fist still raised as he made his departure. The punch seemed to have a neutralizing effect on Edward, for when he stood up he wasn't as frantic with rage. Ms. Miner watched him hesitantly, no doubt wondering whether he would freak out again. Ms. Miner shook her head, her frizzy hair flying all over the place, calming herself down. The late bell rang, requiring us to stand awkwardly and wait for the loud blaring to end before anyone could speak. We were left in silence again when the last of the students in the hall filtered into their respective classrooms. There was no art this period, only a prep for Ms. Miner.

"I am going to overlook this. I don't know why, but I am. You break it you buy it." She spoke every word very clearly with perfect enunciation, slowly walked over to her desk, gathered her stuff, jangled her keys, and left. Edward never removed his eyes from my face, though I kept mine firmly on the floor beneath my feet. My hands twisted anxiously in my lap, and I noticed an unnerving amount of dirt lodged beneath my pointer finger's nail. I distracted myself by digging it out, completely ignoring the present. It was something I had become accustomed to.

I heard the stool across from where I sat scrape against the floor, followed by a sigh as Edward positioned himself in the chair.

"She broke up with me when she found out I spent the night at your house," he said simply.

I shrugged. There was still more dirt under my nail, and that was more important than Edward and Tanya in my book.

"I wasn't upset. I expected it, I guess. I was happy. I was happy, Bella, and that made it worse."

I truly didn't care.

"So it wasn't -"

"You let her walk all over you," I accused, cutting him off. That was what I cared about. He, who had the power to stand up for what he wanted. He had the intelligence, the platform, the ability to make people listen and understand him, and he just let her walk all over him. What pedestal? I didn't see a pedestal.

Except the one I put beneath his feet.

"Would you let me fucking finish?" His fist slammed down on the table and my shoulders jumped involuntarily.

"I wasn't upset because she broke up with me. I was upset because I wanted her to, and I didn't - I don't - understand why."

We were silent for a bit longer as I let his words sink in. The reason I was upset was because he let her do that to him. If he didn't really let her, if he wanted it himself, why was I upset? Because I expected more of him? What more was there for me to expect?

"But Bella, you let people talk shit about you all the time. Why do you do that? Why do you let them treat you like shit?" He leaned across the table. I could see his fingertips splayed open, palms down. There was no drumming of the fingertips with Edward. There were other types of drumming. The rapid drumming that came from the intensity of my heart. I sighed and finally extricated the chunk of dirt, dropping it on the floor. Now there was nothing to distract me. It was just me and Edward in the middle of a bunch of art. My eyes flashed up quickly to see his own intensely green ones staring straight back at me. I knew I was taking too long to reply, but I knew exactly what I was going to say from the beginning.

_It was because everything they said was right_.

"Because they're right." I hated how timid my voice sounded upon the admittance. I fucking hated it.

Edward covered his face with his palms and muttered something I couldn't understand.

"Do you remember my dad?"

"Carlisle?"

The question was random but I was beyond relieved by the line of conversation.

"He's a doctor."

"I'm not sick."

"A psychiatrist."

I immediately blanched, standing up and pushing the stool back from beneath me.

"I'm not sick," I repeated. I didn't need someone to help me. There was no one that could help me. Especially Edward's father. Jesus. I walked to the far corner where my easel and paints were and tore a fresh sheet of paper. It didn't matter that Edward was in the room with me, or that we were both getting detention for it, I just needed to get some shit out. The closest colors to me were the black and red from my last painting excursion, so I mixed them both together without hesitation. There was too much red compared to black, and it overall turned into a dark red mess. I found the biggest brush and scooped up the paint, slamming it into the paper.

I didn't notice Edward was behind me until he spoke.

"Remember when you showed me that painting and I didn't get it? The one with the bird, the one over your couch. I mean, that's the one I'm talking about."

I sighed and nodded, spreading the paint around in no consistent manner.

"I didn't get it." _Duh._

The painting was turning into a giant blob. A giant red-black ugly blob.

"Are you even listening to me?" I didn't respond. "Bella, God. I'm trying to tell you I get it now. I get it. I was just too young. I felt the same thing, I was just too young."

I swiveled to face him.

"Really?"

How he could sway me so simply with his words, his face.

"Yes. I felt the same thing. I was just as lost as you were. Just as lonely." His hand reached up and gently touched the bare skin of my palm. I jumped and pulled it away.

"It didn't seem like it," I admitted.

"It didn't seem like you were, either. Well, until..."

Even he couldn't say it. Even he couldn't admit my failure. He sighed.

"Will you talk to him?"

"Who?"

"Carlisle."

I hesitated. I didn't want to. I didn't need it. I didn't deserve it. But Edward, with his damn eyes and his damn body and his damn perfection... it was him. Because it was his request, I debated.

"Please Bella. Do it for me. Hell, do it for Charlie," he persuaded. I cringed in response. That was a low blow and he knew it. I didn't know his motives, didn't understand him in the slightest. But that wasn't the point. The point was that it was him, him asking me to do something, and of course I couldn't say no. Of course I couldn't.

"I guess..."

He beamed and it was positively brilliant.

***

**am i confusing? bipolar? dyslexic?  
yes to all three.  
review?**


	12. Chapter 12

**thanks to fornicationstation(dot)blogspot(dot)com for the rec on sunday 10/25 (:  
not a shout out to fats  
maylin twice to keep it even, and for helping me edit**

***

So basically there was no fucking way I was going to meet with Carlisle Cullen. I was scared of the guy ever since I accidentally called him Carly on our first meeting (in my defense, Carlisle was a fucking weird name). He was tall, blond, and wore glasses that made it look like he was scoping out my brain. I avoided him at all costs just because of the encounter I feared would happen.

In reality, Carlisle was pretty stand-offish. I rarely heard him talk, except his light smile/smirk the one time I called him Carly. Edward didn't talk about him much. He did talk about his mom, though. Edward was such a momma's boy. It was ridiculous. Half of the time I came over to his house Edward was either cooking, playing the piano (poorly, he never practiced), or cleaning up around the house. His mom would coo his name and tousle his hair and praise his awful performance while I watched in the distance, dejected and the teeniest bit jealous.

I didn't feel like going to school and facing anything, so I faked sick when Charlie attempted to wake me up in the morning. I said flu, he grunted, and that was the end of that. I sat on the couch with cheerios in a salad bowl and reruns of So You Think You Can Dance blaring at an obscene volume on the TV. All of the guys cried on So You Think You Can Dance. It was such a weird show. I just watched it so I could see guys cry once in awhile. And then some guy got punched in the face (on accident, unfortunately) and that was pretty cool, too.

James texted me a couple times. A lot of those times were during lunch. I assumed he was probably lonely.

I finished four shows by the time Edward knocked on my door. I stood in front of him in my pajamas with bunnies embroidered on the pants. He looked at them and raised an eyebrow up, up to the sky.

"I wasn't expecting you." I bet my breath smelled like cheerios. Those cheerios were stale, too.

"You agreed to meet with my dad," he trailed off, gesturing with his hands uselessly.

"I didn't mean the day after I agreed. Jesus." My hand tightened its grip on the door, itching to slam it in his face. But that would also mean being unable to see his face and I wasn't willing to do that, either.

"What's the difference between today and any other day?" He subtly stuck his foot in the door, but I noticed. I wondered if I could slam the door hard enough to break a toe.

"Uh -"

"That's what I thought." He was so fucking smug. Didn't even let me answer. Smug.

"You're an asshole."

"I know. Go change." Edward removed his foot and shut the door. I watched him walk down my driveway to his grandma car. Who would actually pick out a Volvo to drive in High School? Hell, who would actually pick out a Volvo to drive _ever_? And he always kept the thing spotless, like it was a priceless possession. Every day he parked, not a scratch or a smudge. Not that I watched him pull up to the school every day. Not every day. Just most days.

I took an intentionally long time dressing even though it was my standard fare of sweatshirt and jeans that lay in a heap on my floor. I trudged down the steps, really not wanting to follow through with my agreement. Edward still sat patiently in the car, but I could tell by the way his hands tapped on the steering wheel that he was a little bit anxious himself. Charlie didn't know where I was going so I left a conspicuous note on the diluted yellow kitchen table before locking up and leaving.

I slid into the passenger's seat, my anxiety mounting exponentially with each passing second.

Edward could feel it, sense it.

"Calm down," he said softly as he peeled out of the driveway. He drove obnoxiously fast for his car of choice being a Volvo. I noted even the inside was spotless. Never having been in it before, it came as an expected surprise. I rubbed my dirty boots on the mats of the floor just to piss him off. His eyes darted from my feet to the road, perturbed, but sympathetic enough not to mention it.

"Will you stop popping your knuckles? You know that shit grosses me out," he said suddenly. I hadn't even noticed I was doing it, absently pulling at my fingers with a pop, pop, pop. We pulled up to his driveway.

"Sorry," I apologized, dejected. He put the car in park and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I didn't mean it like that."

In an unexpected gesture, he darted around the front of the car and opened my door. The dewy grass outside of his modest home squished beneath my boots. I could feel the barely there feather touch of Edward's hand through the thick cotton of my sweatshirt. Flashes of my childhood swam behind my eyes. Vague memories of playing outside of Edward's house, throwing snowballs in the winter, laughing with Esme when she brought us lemonade; all of it tickled my long-dormant memory. Edward once again held the door open for me, ushering me inside.

The house was darker than I remembered. Darker and emptier and bigger. I wondered what had changed.

Esme entered the room and immediately brightened it considerably, her pale brown hair shining as if lit by halo. She grinned a toothy smile (that only partially hid her shock at my appearance) and immediately leaned forward to engulf me in one of her hugs. I stiffened, awkwardly moving one of my arms in response, but too slowly to be deemed as a natural reaction. She jumped back as if shocked, and I could see Edward's head move quickly back and forth, a stern expression on his face.

"Oh, Bella. It's so good to see you again. I missed you. We all did." The last part of the sentence was a tacked-on afterthought.

"It's nice to see you, too, Esme," I said politely. It was one of my rare moments of correctly reading social cues.

We stood with bated breath, waiting on Carlisle, each of us afraid to say the wrong thing.

Carlisle came mercifully quickly. I recognized the tousle of blond hair, often as unruly as Edward's though a different color, drift down the stairs. He held a closed-mouth smile. I couldn't really tell if he was glad to see me or not, but the corners of his mouth turned up in an almost-grin. His eyes, a striking blue (and surprisingly alien), seemed to pop right out from his face.

"Hello Bella," he said calmly, sticking his hand out for a greeting. I took it tentatively, stuffing down my fears.

"Hello Carlisle," I replied softly.

"Don't you mean Carly?"

Uneasy laughter ensued.

"Right." I blushed furiously and looked at my feet.

"I was thinking we could talk a bit in my study. How would you feel about that?"

"Um, I guess."

"Fantastic." It wasn't very fantastic when his voice was so neutral. I saw Edward's posture relax as Carlisle turned stairs. His feet echoed against the dark wood. I clutched the railing like a lifeline, but I refused to look back. That, I refused. We walked down a long hall that felt like it was closing in on me, and at the very end was Carlisle's study. I was never allowed in it before. It used to be an off-limits room. I remembered Edward skirting around it as if it held some sort of top secret laboratory.

It probably had something to do with the fact that Edward once told me that Carlisle was a secret agent. He was lying.

Carlisle sat down in a leather chair. It was one of those intimidating ones that arched upwards and swirled behind, with the big brass buttons stuck in it. It had armrests that curled underneath and glimmered a pale gold. Hell, the chair even rolled. The leather squeaked beneath him as he sat. He pulled a notebook into his lap, motioning for me to sit at the couch across from him. Beside the couch was a worn-looking table. On top of it sat a clock, like a mini-grandfather clock. Every second it tick, tick, ticked.

I perched uncomfortably at the edge of the couch, smoothing out my jeans for no apparent reason. I refused to meet Carlisle's eye. Instead I picked at a piece of lint that lodged itself at the edge of my sweater. It suddenly occurred to me, these sessions were expensive. And Charlie had no idea I was here.

"Carlisle, I can't, I mean, I can't pay you for this. I mean, Charlie doesn't know." I hated when my words got all jumbled up. I hated when they came out wrong like that. Awkward pauses and repeated phrases and jointed, ugly language escaping from my own tongue.

"Consider it a favor," he smiled. I had no reason not to trust Carlisle. Yet, I did not trust him at all. Not his shocking blue eyes or his tight smile or his damn leather chair, either. I heard muted sounds of the house through the heavy door, just normal sounds of people moving about and talking and laughing. "How are you feeling today, Bella?"

I almost laughed at the cliché. Almost.

"Fine." Carlisle immediately began writing on his notepad as if my simple 'fine' solved all of my problems. I didn't know how to answer his questions because if I answered his questions truthfully he would come to the same conclusion I had. And I didn't want anyone else to judge me. Least of all a psychiatrist with alien-eyes.

Alien-eyes were always my enemy.

My eyes repeatedly darted to the door. I just wanted an escape, I guess.

"Well, how have you been feeling this last month?" he asked after he finished writing an essay on that damn notepad.

"Fine," I repeated. Instead of writing, he set his pencil and notepad down on the table beside him. He stared at me with those damn eyes.

"I'm going to be honest with you here, Bella. In order for me to be able to help you, you have to be truthful with me. That is really just the way psychiatry works. I trust you, you trust me. If that doesn't happen we'll just wander in aimless circles with no solution." He was very blunt and precise. I envied the ease through which he put thoughts to words.

"So you want me to like, fall back and you catch me?"

He let out a light laugh. It was rather similar to Edward's, that laugh.

"No, though I assure you I would not let you fall. Rather, why don't you just tell me what you did today? Start to finish, just facts, and no lies." It made me feel better that Carlisle didn't pick up his notepad. Instead, he kept his eyes steadily on my forehead, his body positioned foreword to portray his intent listening. I began to recite my day hesitantly, though after a bit the words came easier. Simply recalling the facts was not my problem; the only problem was making me talk. I had a funny feeling that Carlisle knew that.

The session was an hour. Carlisle cut it off at that. At the end, all we had achieved was talking about the crying guys on So You Think You Can Dance. He nodded and tapped his pencil twice and told me he would see me every other day, time permitting. He ushered me out the door to where Edward was waiting; wringing his hands in a gesture I had not seen from him before. Carlisle returned to his study after a quick goodbye, leaving me with an obviously-anxious Edward.

"How did it go?" he asked. He wore a shirt where I could clearly the muscles in his forearms. It was rather distracting.

"It was fine," I replied, walking with him down those dark wooden stairs.

He groaned, dissatisfied by my answer.

"Why don't you just ask Carlisle?"

"Doctor-patient confidentiality. I already asked," he grumbled.

Edward drove me back to my house in silence. Even the radio was left off, the only sound being the gentle whir of asphalt beneath tire. Edward clenched his hands over the steering wheel. I was too tired to push.

He walked me to the door. When I moved to grasp the handle, he pushed his palm flat against the wood, stopping me. I turned to face him with a questioning glance.

Honestly, it looked like he was going to kiss me. He even tilted his head and shit. And his lips, ugh, they even parted slightly. I could see his breath come out in little wisps in the cold air, rapidly increasing in rate. I sort of squinted back, not knowing how to respond, but accepting it.

Of course, he didn't kiss me.

"Bella?" he asked instead, to which I cocked my head to the side. "Would you, I mean, would you think that, ugh. Do you think that you would wanttogotoamoviewithmesometime?" I didn't really hear what he actually asked. Well I did, but I didn't comprehend it. I was comforted, though, in the fact that he stumbled over his words. He was oddly human in that way to me. He wasn't eloquent when he talked. He wasn't a romance novel. He was normal and blubbering and nervous and stubborn and easily angered and _Edward_.

And because he was Edward, _my _Edward, I said yes.

***

**there is exactly one person who knows how i'm ending this. you know who you are. you go glen coco, you are inside my wicked brain.  
review?**


	13. Chapter 13

***

**thanks to ezrocksangel for the rec & the fictionaters for the rec  
and maylin & fats for continuing to be alive...**

***

James stood next to me as I stared at the racks with benign curiosity. We were in JC Penney, awkwardly walking through mountains of clothes with no distinct purpose. The small strip mall in Port Angeles had very few stores, and somehow we ended up here. James picked up a barely-there bikini strapped lacy _thing _and shoved it in my face.

"What about this?" he probed. I was pretty sure that the amount of fabric in that piece of clothing wouldn't have been enough to cover a hamster.

"James, it's November," I replied instead. "I thought we were going shopping for new winter clothes."

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, returning the shirt to its place. I ran my hand through a row of huge snow jackets with weird faux-fur ringing the hood like a freaky raccoon. I found the fabric annoyingly itchy. James pulled one on and zipped it up to his chin, pulling the hood over his head to form a giant faux-fur afro.

I snorted a laugh as he ran around in circles scaring all of the other customers.

"I'm the evil Eskimo coming to keeeel you!" he screamed. He jumped up behind a five-year-old and made her run away screaming and crying. I shook my head at his antics, but I couldn't deny that I found them amusing. We had been looking through the store for a good three hours, and all that had come out of the impromptu trip was three plain colored turtle necks. James told me I looked like an off-duty nun in them. I told him to fuck himself.

All was going well until the bitch brigade approached.

It was clear that they did not, in fact, shop at JC Penney. They had Nordstrom bags draped over their arms, the plastic rustling against their True Religion size 24 skinny-ass jeans. James was still chasing down unsuspecting victims. Their heels clacked a steady rhythm against the linoleum floor. I dodged their line of sight, ducking behind stray racks and shelves. They stalled for a moment, checking a loudly ringing phone playing Party in the USA. It caught me off guard and I dived behind a low shelf, landing on my knees. I held my breath and stared at the floor. There was a small circular stain about the size of a penny, just slightly darker than the light grey carpet, right in the middle of my vision.

"What is she doing on the floor?"

Shit.

"She probably just barfed her brains up like in PE. She totally did that. It was so gross, you don't even know."

"Oh my God you're right. I bet she's like, bulimic or something. There's that girl that's bulimic. I would say they were friends but I don't think she has any."

I slowly turned around. Three stilettos stared back at me, all three slightly different shades of red. I gulped and stood up slowly, keeping my eyes on the floor. Tanya, Lauren, and Jessica. Bitch brigade.

"Guys, she's actually shopping here. That is so gross. I heard all of these clothes had, like, lice or something."

Lauren said that. I knew for a fact that she had lice in the fourth grade. Everyone was afraid of catching it so no one would talk to her for the entire year, well after she was cured. I was pretty sure that was the bane of her existence, and the brief period of social outcast permanently haunted her memories.

They continued with the marginally insulting remarks, attempting to outdo each other's wit. They pretty much failed, especially when the contest ended with 'yeah, and she smells, too.' James finally approached. I didn't know what the hell he was doing, but he was still wearing the awful faux-fur snow jacket. I felt his hot breath on my neck when he got close enough.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Oh, she was just barfing on the carpet or something," Lauren politely filled in. There was a pause as James looked for the remnants of the supposed-vomit.

"I don't see any barf."

"That's because it's your face, duh!" That was Tanya. Of course that was Tanya. It was the only thing even closely resembling wit. I was pretty sure she was attempting to imply that James's face looked like barf. It was a stretch, of course. And I couldn't help but be a bit relieved when at least some of the negative attention was turned from me. I fingered the fabric of the turtlenecks in my arms and bit my lip. The shoe on the far right began to tap up and down with impatience.

"Can we go now? I'm totally over this." It was Jessica. In that moment I thought of her as my savior. They called something crude about my sucking James's dick on their way out, but it was partially disguised by the clacking of those damn stilettos they always wore. They wore them to make themselves feel superior. Because taller, in their book, was automatically superior. And damn it all to hell if that tactic didn't work. James sighed beside me, unzipping the jacket and throwing it on the shelf I had been ducking behind. He shuffled his feet from side to side. He was, for the first time, at a loss for words.

"Want to just buy those shirts and leave?"

"I don't want them anymore."

"Just get them. You need new clothes. Little B, you wear the same clothes every day. It's so freaking gross."

"Thanks."

"You know I'm not insulting you. Constructive criticism."

"I guess I just get it all confused."

James did something gentlemanly and purchased the three shirts. Of course, they were on sale for about 7 bucks each, but it was still a sweet gesture on his part. I returned home a little after dinner time to find Charlie snoozing loudly on the couch. Whatever game he was watching - how stereotypically Charlie, watching the game - was absolutely blaring. I turned off the TV with a click and half-heartedly attempted to rouse him from his state.

I had just sat down when a light knock at the door forced me to stand again. I then remembered that it was Edward, picking me up for another session with Carlisle the Counselor (with drugs). I called him that because that was what he was to me. I mean, I didn't _not _like Carlisle. He was all right I guess, until he began talking about stuff I didn't want to talk about. I tacked on the (with drugs) when he outright prescribed me some anti-depressants. He told me that I was clinically depressed, and gave me these huge ass pills that made me barf every morning like a pregnant woman. He took me off them soon after, but his actions allowed me to dub him the name Carlisle the Counselor (with drugs).

Edward stood outside my door with rain flecked in his bronze hair. It was matted down with droplets dripping from his sideburns and along his jaw, making me anxious and throbbing and no longer tired. The rain was coming down in sheets, framing him in a silhouette outside of my porch. We had yet to actually see the movie that he had suggested. It just never came about. I mean, we still saw each other in Spanish and all. But at lunch Edward basically disappeared. And I never saw him after school unless he was taking me to Carlisle, and that was just awkward. Just like today, he stood uncomfortably on the porch, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

"Hi."

"...Hey."

I followed him into the rain, hunching my shoulders against its slightly painful downpour. The heaters of his car were welcoming. I rubbed my hands back and forth in front of them, creating friction. Edward shifted the heat to a higher power, but his eyes stayed trained on the road before him. The windshield wipers whipped water recklessly. I sighed and stared at my hands, eager to be with Carlisle and away from the thick tension of Edward's car.

"So, do you not want to go anymore?" he asked suddenly. We were speeding on wet pavement. I gripped my seat.

"Go where?" His driving scared me.

"To the movie, I mean. We don't have to... if you don't want to." He stumbled through is sentence.

"I do want to. I just didn't know if that was real, I guess." I didn't realize I was thinking that until it came out of my mouth. I hated when that happened.

"What do you mean, not real?"

"Like, if you were just taking pity on me or something."

"Bella," he laughed. I loved his laugh. And I loved the way he said my name. I just loved it. "I eat in a bathroom stall."

So that was where he went at lunch. We were silent for the rest of the way. Edward's house was as dark as ever. Apparently Esme was out doing something, so Edward led me up to Carlisle's study himself. It felt as though Edward was still uncomfortable going into Carlisle's personal area, for he hovered outside the door. I knocked timidly and Carlisle answered almost immediately, opening the door with a gentle smile.

"Hello Bella."

His eyes still freaked me out.

Edward stayed until the door shut him out. I resumed my seat on the couch, quickly becoming a creature of habit. Carlisle sat down in his chair and pursed his lips, sticking a pen in between them. I could tell he was going to throw something new out there. His posture changed when he was going to try a different approach with me. Even Carlisle the Counselor (with drugs) couldn't hide all of his mannerisms, even though he tried so carefully.

"Do you remember how you felt the moment it was happening?"

I knew what he was getting at immediately. I stiffened up, blocking myself off.

"Are you asking if I liked it?" My tone was sharp. "Of course I liked it. Everyone likes fucking, right?"

Carlisle put down his pen and pinched the bridge of his nose. Like father, like son. I averted my eyes and stared at the green-brown carpet. The clock ticked incessantly in my ear. I wanted to throw it out the window. I wanted to throw it out the window and watch it land in a mess of glass and gears, so it would never tick again.

"But do you remember exactly how you felt?" he tried again. He kept his eyes on my face. Reading my expressions, I assumed.

"Not exactly," I admitted. "I mean, I wasn't exactly pushing him off of me. I didn't do that."

"Did you feel like you shouldn't?"

"I don't think I felt anything."

I pulled at a lose strand of fabric on the couch. It came out easily. Carlisle wrote something down quickly on his notepad, returning it to the side table in a flash. After the brief conversation he moved onto more neutral topics. Mostly the facts that I liked, simply about my day or my dad or anything of that sort. Edward tapped on the door the minute our hour was up, as he had been prone to do as of late. It was only about seven when we arrived at my house. I made to reenter the rain when Edward's voice stopped me.

"What about tonight?" he blurted out.

"Edward, context," I reminded him.

"Movies tonight. There's that scary movie thing in Port Angeles at 9." I had heard about that. Port Angeles was apparently feeling nostalgic towards Halloween, and in that spirit they were playing a constant string of scary movies in one of their theatres. A brief glance inside the window confirmed that Charlie was still asleep on the couch. I pulled at the hem of my sweatshirt before answering.

"Sure," I shrugged. He grinned at me before backing out of the driveway. The drive to Port Angeles was only thirty minutes or so, so we had a good half hour of sitting in a dark theatre together. It made me anxious as fuck, and it didn't even distract me when Edward attempted to make stupid jokes or when he paid for my ticket. He purposefully bought a huge bucket of popcorn to set between us. It gave me the space I so dearly needed.

The first movie in the marathon, and the only one we were seeing, was The Shining. Edward and I saw the movie together when we were in fifth grade just to say that we did it. Edward started crying from fear when Jack chased his son through the maze. We made eye contact during the same part that night, sharing a rare grin on our memory.

The tips of our fingers brushed several times. The occurrences were complete accidents, of course. Just accidents in the popcorn bin, jolts of electricity to keep me awake and stimulate my senses. The movie ended much too soon for my liking, and the small group of us filed out into the bright lights of the foyer. Edward clutched the popcorn to his chest. I didn't know why he saved it. Stale popcorn is gross.

"So, um, home?" he suggested. I nodded my response and we walked together to the car, hunched over and separated a bit like the classic uncomfortable couple.

The drive home was silent.

The walk to the door was silent.

And when his fingers gently and slowly brushed against my cheek in goodbye, I was silent.

***

**mmmreview?(:**

**happy Halloween!**


	14. Chapter 14

***

**thanks to LASMKE for the rec**

***

There were officially three people with my cell phone number. Charlie, James, and Edward were listed in the contacts. It wasn't long enough to require a scroll bar (unless I included all of the emergency numbers, of course), but it was still an increase by 50%. I fumbled awkwardly giving Edward my information to the point of forgetting my own number. I had to look it up as he waited, hands stiff in his pockets after the unexpected brush of the hand. Edward let out a hesitant chuckle as I plugged the numbers in, my fingers suddenly too big and clumsy for the keys. On the contrary, Edward entered his in mine with ease. I didn't even have time to blink before he was handing the device back, his number and name programmed in it.

"So, I'll call you?" he asked.

"If you want to."

"I want to."

"Then, yeah."

"Um, okay." He backed down the steps. It began to drizzle; wetting his hair and making it sparkle. "I'll call you!" he yelled with his hand on his car door.

"I know," I chuckled, calling back. I watched Edward back down the driveway before turning inside the house. Charlie still lay asleep on the couch, snoring the whir of a chainsaw. I sighed and mounted the stairs to my bedroom, my tread steady and slow, a dragging lull on the floor. I was exhausted. Not just physically, but emotionally. The stress of staying sane through the night wore me down, but I felt accomplished as well. I took a quick shower, not a fan of the water, of the space, of the nakedness, before toweling off and entering my room.

I wasn't prepared for wait awaited me.

Sitting on my bed, cast to light by the hazy glow of the moon, smirked James, trailing his eyes up and down my wet body.

"Jesus Christ!" I cursed, my heart thundering in my chest. I kept my bearings and hugged the towel closer to my body. My pajamas sat out precariously close to his thigh, taunting me.

"You showered," he observed, fiddling with something in his hands. I recognized it as my cell phone.

"What are you doing with that?" I asked, distracted by it.

"See, here's the thing little B. You totally left it on the kitchen table. So I just walked in and grabbed it, you know? Your dad was just sleeping, you know? Damn, he snores like a chainsaw. Anyways, I grabbed it and then it buzzed. It vibrated and shit, too. I hate cell phones that are on vibrate. Reminds me of sex. Why is yours on vibrate? God, it reminds me of sex. The vibrating, that's what it is." James was rambling. The room was cold. I was _naked_. And he practically held my clothes hostage. I was not, not, not feeling patient enough to sit through his ramble. Instead, I ignored most of what he said. Instead, I grabbed new pajamas from my dresser. Instead, I left my room with a slammed door and changed in the bathroom.

I tried to ignore the fact that James sat alone on my bed. Not that it was making me nervous; I just didn't like him touching it. It was almost like a scene of a crime to me, a scene of a crime that I had to sleep in every night as purgatory for my foolishness. I stared at myself in the mirror. My eyes were sunken deep in fragile flesh, ringed in black circles and fringed in lashes the color of pitch. The apples of my cheeks only served the purpose to make my face look gaunt, the cheekbones savage edges in a trailing line to my ears, hidden by my damp, dark mat of hair. I had a freckle, or a beauty mark, I guess, right underneath my left ear, on the point where the jaw met the ear. I used to scratch at it constantly. I didn't like it, a plague upon my face. Random and ugly, the "beauty" mark was an imperfection I wasn't willing to live with. I pressed my lips into a hard line, staring at the fact that the lower lip was larger than the upper, and trying to even them out.

My clavicles, jagged lines in shadows across my chest.

A skeleton, empty and cold.

My insides started to buzz and I pressed my forehead against the glass of the mirror. I took deep, calming breaths under Carlisle's administration. They helped. A little.

I reentered my room to find James using my laptop.

"Why don't you have a facebook?" he asked. I wondered when facebook became a noun.

"No point," I mumbled, pulling the blankets of my bed up and around my shoulders. It was well after 2 in the morning. I saw James's facebook page from over his shoulder. He had over one thousand friends, and the picture of him looked as thought it were at least two years old. All of a sudden it switched to some farm game with goats and crops, and I stopped watching. I was just drifting off when my cell phone vibrated. James snatched it up and glared at the phone number. It was Edward.

"Why does he keep texting you? He texted you earlier, you know. When it was on your table in the kitchen and I picked it up. That's when he texted you. And now, again?"

"Why don't you just go home?" I complained, stuffing a pillow over my head. He flipped open the phone and read the text. I really didn't care, for I doubted Edward would disclose anything too personal through text.

"You went out with him?" James suddenly bellowed, snapping my lap top shut. I turned my body away from him and faced the wall, clenching my eyes closed. "Why did you go out with him? He ditched you! He - he ditched you and shit! I am your only friend, little B. I'm it for you!" I slammed the pillow over my head again. I didn't want to listen. No more, no more. The snoring from downstairs suddenly stopped. Thankfully, James took that as his cue to leave. I heard him drop my phone on the floor with a light tap, and then the window open and close to the wind.

He was gone.

_To everything (turn, turn, turn)  
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)  
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven_

The Byrds woke me up in the morning, interrupting the dark quiet with the grainy sound of poor radio reception. The woes of small-town life.

I felt hazy and sticky even though I showered the night before. I fumbled around in the darkness as I searched for my usual attire. I heard Charlie getting ready downstairs and moved to join him, taking the rest of his coffee from the coffee pot and adding several spoonfuls of sugar. I sipped it absently with my back resting against the counter. Charlie and I entered the cruiser. Thankfully, there were no speeders on the way to school. I took my cell phone out of my pocket on a sudden whim, remembering that I never had checked Edward's messages.

**Edward**: how are u doing?

20 minutes later.

**Edward**: are u okay? did i do something at the movie?

1 hour later.

**Edward**: pls text back.

There were several others of similar context to the last, and I wondered what the problem was. I called him instead of texting. I was slow as fuck at texting.

"Bella?" He answered almost immediately.

"Yeah." Charlie shot me a few glances, obviously wondering who I was talking to. The windshield wipers flashed as they pushed away the rain.

"Why didn't you respond to my texts? What the hell, Bella?" He was mad and I honestly had no idea why.

"I just went to bed," I explained. "I didn't get the texts, I mean, sorry?" I deliberately left out the James encounter. There was a pause on his side of the phone, though I could still faintly hear his deep breathing.

"I'm sorry. I was just freaking out, I think. I don't know. I'll see you at... lunch?" There was a hesitation before the last word. I wondered why. I usually saw him in Spanish, anyways. And that was right before lunch.

"I guess," I answered, not really knowing if he needed confirmation or not. We said our goodbyes as Charlie pulled up to the school, dropping me off on the curb. We were early so the school was pretty barren. I found a spot to myself as I awaited first period. I saw James enter the school and I ducked into the girl's bathroom, not willing to converse about the night before. I didn't want to deal with it. No more, no more. The first few of my classes were slow and steady. I saw Edward in Spanish but there really wasn't much to say. The teacher also worked us right up to the bell. Edward opened his mouth slightly as if wanting to speak, but he never did say anything. I left him at his desk.

I saw James's back first. He was wearing a heavy, studded leather jacket. His applesauce sat beside him, unopened and without a spoon. I grabbed two sporks and sat across from him, pulling my jar of peanut butter from my bag. He wouldn't meet my eye, instead he traced his finger along the table. He wasn't even drumming them. It was so weird. I handed him a spork, sliding it across the table. It landed right in his line of vision. He still didn't look up.

"What's wrong?" I finally asked, exasperated.

"Nothing," he replied curtly.

"Fine."

"Fine."

I ate two more spoonfuls of peanut butter before Edward showed up. He hovered over James's shoulder, trying to make eye contact with me. He held a brown bag in his hand, simple and plain, crumpled and beaten. He cleared his throat, at which point James turned around. He stiffened immediately. His applesauce still sat unopened, the empty spork by its side. I stared at Edward. Everyone stared at Edward. Everyone turned. Everyone stared. At us. At me. I panicked.

"Could I, um, maybe, sit here?" His hand crunched around the paper bag. I opened my mouth to speak but James answered for me.

"Um, maybe, no," he snapped, turning around and finally opening up his applesauce. I gaped at him. Edward frowned.

"Why not?" I countered, digging my spoon into the peanut butter. James's eyes snapped to my face, shocked by the fact that I was going against him.

"Oh, jeez. Well, little B, I don't know. _Maybe _because he was the one who took your table in the first place? I don't know, maybe that's why. He needs to suffer." He spoke as if Edward was not right behind him, hearing every word.

"I know, but -"

"But what, little B? He didn't stand up for you. He doesn't deserve it." Slowly the cafeteria quieted, listening to our heated argument. Edward still hadn't moved. He hadn't attempted to defend himself, either. I saw Tanya's table look over in disbelief, their mouths agape, surprised by the abrupt slam of social hierarchy. Edward Cullen, Greek god, turned down by the social scum of the junior class. That was as low as it got, and everyone knew it. Even Edward knew it. I could tell by the way his eyes darted back and forth, his lower lip pulled in his mouth, his knuckles turning whiter on his grip of the paper bag.

"What about eye for an eye or something like that?" I couldn't even remember what the ending of that proverb was.

"Makes the whole world blind?" James snapped. Oh, that was it. "I'd rather be blind than sit with _that_." His thumb jutted over his shoulder.

"What about forgiveness?"

Everyone needed forgiveness.

I needed forgiveness.

I needed to forgive myself.

"I can't believe you're defending him." James stood up, his apple sauce emptied and thrown in the trash. He hunched his shoulders and shot me a glare of disgust, but at the same time, pity. He stalked out of the cafeteria, his boots an echo on the linoleum. Edward still stood stoic, his eyes on the floor, ashamed. My brow crumpled and I dug my spork into the peanut butter. Finally, I felt Edward sit down across from me. He reached his hand across the table, obstructing my vision. In his hand was a small plastic ring. We won it together at a carnival in Port Angeles in the summer between 4th and 5th. In a game of rock, paper, scissors, Edward was allowed to keep it.

He was giving it to me as a thank you.

***

**yay transitional chapters..  
50 reviews last time. THANK YOU SO MUCH!! can you beat it? :)**


	15. Chapter 15

***

"There may be two equally good, equally gifted, equally beautiful, but there may never be two that love one another equally well." Carlisle put down the worn book. He set it down, split open, on the small table beside which he sat. The binding was frayed and the pages soft with use, and sticky notes littered the edges. He took off his reading glasses, thick lenses with thin lines jutting horizontally across the center, and set them on top of the overly-abused book. He let out a sigh; tainting the stale room with carbon dioxide and making me feel stifled.

I leaned back on the couch, relaxing myself. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. I was just awaiting Carlisle's inevitable question. I was also just awaiting Edward's light rap on the door, signaling the end to our torturous sessions. Okay, torturous was a bit mellow-dramatic. They weren't torturous. They weren't pleasant, per say, but I did end up feeling better afterwards. Sometimes. A little bit.

"Do you think that quote holds validity, Bella?" Every time he asked me a question he said my name afterwards as if clarifying he wasn't addressing my imaginary friend. 'Do you want some more water, Bella?' 'How do you feel, Bella?' 'Do you want to stay longer this time, Bella?'

I sighed and picked at a fingernail, fighting with my skin, trying to dislodge it.

"I guess I do," I replied.

"Why is that?"

"I mean, it makes sense. I guess it just makes sense." I stumbled over my words.

"How about an example?"

"Well, in Romeo and Juliet -"

Carlisle cut me off.

"I was actually going for an example, perhaps, in your life?" He tapped his pen up and down against his notepad. I fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Are you asking if I love anyone?"

"How about Charlie" – he paused – "or, maybe, Renée?"

We had been talking about Renée a lot lately. I wasn't sure what he was getting at, really. I just knew it made me uncomfortable and nauseous and it created a feeling of inadequacy in the pit of my stomach. I never thought about her, personally. I mean, she left. What was I supposed to think? It wasn't like I missed her. I didn't miss her. I just missed who she could have been, who she was before she changed. That's who I missed. But I didn't miss her, no, not her, not my mother.

"I don't love her."

"You say that like you've thought it over," he pressed, still tapping the damn pen.

"Well, I have. I don't just not think about her. I used to think about her a lot. Now I don't. But I used to."

"Why don't you love her?" he asked. My hands dug like claws into the couch, defensive.

"Because she left."

"Why did she leave?"

"I don't know."

"If you had to guess."

"She didn't love us anymore."

"And you loved her?"

"At the time?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

Carlisle scratched something down quickly on the pad. He sighed and set it down on top of the frayed book, lounging back into his leather chair with all those buttons and resting his hands on his lap. I looked at anything but him, feeling uncomfortable prickling in my eyes and a thickness in my chest. I successfully stifled it after staring at the long row of Encyclopedia Britannica on his far wall.

"Do you ever consider that that was not why she left?" he asked. His voice was quieter, softer now that we had breached upon a delicate subject. He often waited with bated breath for my answer, his aura calm and collected, expecting whatever I had to say with benign yet complete interest.

"No. I just saw her leave, that's all. Charlie didn't talk about it, anyways. That's all I saw."

"I know she loved you -"

"You don't know that." It was my turn to cut off dear Carlisle the Counselor (with drugs). My tone was virulent and angst-ridden, but mostly it was awestruck at his ability to even guess into the feelings of people he did not know. Carlisle allowed my outburst with a cool nod of his head. He then leaned towards me, resting his elbows on his knees, breathing out a steady stream of air through his nose.

"Do you ever consider" – he often started questions that way – "that she didn't know how to love you with the simplicity that you loved her?"

"I think that is a poor excuse."

He nodded.

"That very may well be, but you simply have to rise above it. You have to do that, for I know you can, and then you have to learn how to love, so you don't make her mistakes."

I was about to reply when my long-awaited rap sounded delicately from the door. Carlisle stood and shook my hand, winking as though we were partners in crime. He led me to the doorway, all calm and nonchalant, to an awaiting Edward on the other side of the frame. Edward grinned and grimaced, and he stared at Carlisle until he shut the door behind me.

"How was it?" he asked.

"It was fine," I replied, to which he huffed.

"You gotta give me more info one of these days, Bella."

I chuckled lightly.

"I do not."

I kept walking until I reached the end of the hallway, at which point I noticed Edward frozen behind me, eyes wide, stark still mid-step. I swiveled to face him, curious as to the cause of his sudden imitation of a scarecrow.

"What?"

He raised both of his eyebrows to his forehead. It was the only indication that he was not frozen on the spot.

"You just chuckled a bit."

"I noticed."

"No, I mean, actually. You haven't, I mean, you haven't – well, you probably have, but not in front of me…" he trailed off, catching his breath and leaning his arm against the wall as if he had just run a mile.

"Haven't what?"

"Laughed!" he shouted, proclaiming the most obvious thing in the world. "Bella, you laughed!" He ran over to me and scooped me up, spinning me in a circle and sending the world spinning. It was my turn to freeze. I had never been so close to Edward. I had never been so close to anyone since… since…

He threw me back on my feet, leaving me disoriented.

"Oh my God. I'm sorry. Shit. Shit. I'm sorry. Shit." He backed away from me until he hit the far wall, but I wasn't even shaking. I was a little dizzy, I guess, but I wasn't freaking out. I wasn't having a panic attack. I was even breathing regularly. Hell, I just wanted to feel his warmth again.

Edward stared at me, eyes wide as owls as he assessed the situation. His back pressed against the far wall, afraid to touch me. Afraid to break me. I stared at my fingernails, bitten to the point of near bloody, and the good six feet of space between us. There was a family portrait of Edward, Carlisle and Esme above Edward's right soldier. I remembered when that picture had been taken. Well, I wasn't there. But I did remember Edward coming over afterwards with his tie on. I laughed at him and he got so embarrassed that his entire face caught fire, and he took the tie and threw the unoffending piece of fabric into the mud. He proclaimed it to be the 'ugliest, stupidest little choker' he had ever worn.

It just did me in.

I let out a boisterous guffaw and doubled over, my sides shaking with the force of my laughter. The situation combined with the sudden appearance of a ridiculous and random memory was too much to comprehend at the same time. Edward cocked his head to the side as my eyes streamed with tears. Happy tears. Happy, laughing, silly tears that clouded my vision and distorted his head and that damn picture with that ugly-ass tie.

"What's so funny?" he asked tentatively, the corners of his mouth turning up into a smile. All I could manage was to point at the picture, at that tie, the tie he called a choker, for God's sake. He turned around to face it, examining the picture.

He paused, and then just as if signaled, his face burned a bright red.

"You laughed at me that day," he accused, pointing at me. "I was mortified!"

That, of course, just made me laugh harder. Edward finally gave in and joined me, his eyes brighter than I had ever seen. I saw Carlisle peek out from his study and assess us, a proud, joyful grin planted on his timeless features.

*

Edward wasn't at school on Wednesday. I noticed in Spanish but I didn't really register it until I was sitting alone at the lunch table, my spork lodged in the peanut butter. And it hurt. I mean, I had been alone before. Hell, I was alone for most of High School. But I got used to company. I got used to James, who was no longer talking to me. I got used to Edward, who was now sick. And then I was suddenly alone, and I realized how selfish I was becoming, how ungrateful.

I stared at the table and reminded myself who I was and why.

"Finally, the douche is gone!" James sat down across from me and I jumped up, my spork clattering on the plastic table.

"James – what? Where have you been?" I asked, eyes wide.

"Out," he answered curtly. And then he did something even _more _unexpected. He fucking pulled Nutella out of his backpack. He loped over to the silverware stand and grabbed a spork, and returned with a jolly grin on his face.

"Okay, what the fuck is that?" I asked with disbelief, gesturing to the Nutella. It definitely was not applesauce, and that was more frightening than anything.

"It's Nutella. It has hazelnuts in it." He explained like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Um… where's the applesauce?"

"I figure I'm more of a Nutella kind of guy, now."

"What makes you a Nutella kind of guy?" I snorted.

"Well, see, listen. Nutella is basically the natural enemy of peanut butter, you know? There's vegemite too, I guess. But whatever. I couldn't even find vegemite in the store. But Nutella, they totally had Nutella. I stocked up. Little B, I have six cans of Nutella at my house. Six."

I ignored him after he started talking about vegemite.

"So, did you just declare me your enemy or something?"

"Yup."

He took a spoonful of Nutella.

"Mmmm, hazelnut-y," he grinned, his teeth covered with the brown stuff. We ate our meals in silence until the bell. For some reason, I only felt safe to speak once the Nutella was back inside his bag. He paused when we stood. He could always tell when I was about to say something.

"Do you think you could forgive Edward?" I asked.

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"He doesn't deserve it."

"But – but what if you didn't deserve it? Wouldn't you still want it?"

James paused for a moment, his eyes on my face. He widened them briefly and then dug in his bag, taking out the Nutella and throwing it in the garbage. I took it as the best 'yes' I would receive.

*

Charlie drove me over to the Cullen's that night, as Edward was sick. I sat in the front that time, no longer caged by the imposing bars of the cop car. Charlie gave me a strange look when he saw the seat that I chose. I usually didn't like riding next to him. I didn't like people seeing me when he pulled them over. I didn't like being the culprit.

He dropped me off and waved goodbye as he backed down their long drive. I took the steps two at a time, drunk on hope and eager for no reason. The rain was falling in sheets by the time I reached the door. When Esme answered she politely allowed me to wring my hair out on their mat. She told me Carlisle was awaiting me upstairs.

Our session was short and brief, mostly just an aftershock of the day before. To my surprise, it was still Edward who knocked on my door. His forehead was a bit sweaty and his nose pink. He was obviously sick. It was adorable.

We both sat on the couch to wait for Charlie to arrive. The rain was still falling heavily, bits of lightning creating flashes on the horizon. We sat in silence, and for the first time in a long time, I initiated our conversation.

"Carlisle was telling me this quote yesterday in my session. It was really a downer. I can't remember the whole thing, but I remember it ended with no two people can love each other equally well, or something like that. Has he ever told you that one?" I asked.

Edward snorted, but I could tell he was pleased that I told him something about our sessions.

"He's only told me that quote about a thousand times," he laughed. His voice was nasally when he spoke.

"It's depressing."

"It's not, actually," he contradicted.

"Why?"

"Did he not tell you the final quote of that novel?" he asked. I shook my head no in response. He grinned, looking up to the ceiling and reciting it from memory.

"But soon we shall die and all memory of those five will have left the earth, and we ourselves shall be loved for a while and forgotten. But the love will have been enough; all those impulses of love return to the love that made them. Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning."

***

**The quotes (first and last) belong to Thornton Wilder (**_**The Bridge of San Luis Rey**_**)**

**Props to revrag for uber betaing**

**Maylin for being awesome... all the ravelry girls for being awesome… and fats even though she might be dead? Or just not on the computer. Same thing.**

**the fictionators for another review... that was totally freaking awesome... i need to stop saying awesome.**

**AND everyone who reads/reviews… because I totally hit 75 last chapter. And now you have to beat that. Please? (:**


	16. Chapter 16

***

Charlie sat next to me on the couch, the cushions sinking under his weight. He managed to get off work. It was surprising, actually, for he generally had a hard time leaving the 'crime-ridden' streets of Forks be. Carlisle sat across from us in his usual spot, shuffling through his notes and papers, ignoring us. I glanced to the side to find small beads of sweat forming on Charlie's brow and temple.

He was still in his uniform.

He found no relief from the gun latched on his hip.

Carlisle called Charlie himself. I saw Charlie's surprise when he answered the phone to find none other than the good doctor on the other end of the line. I sat at the coffee table doing a bit of homework when the phone rang. The shock on Charlie's features quickly morphed to a furrowed brow and an inaudible tone. His eyes darted back and forth between me and anywhere else in the room. He nodded once, twice, three times, and then hung up. Instead of confronting me like I expected he fell beside me with a huff, flipping on a baseball game.

Different couch, different day, Charlie and I sat next to each other in equally uncomfortable silence. Carlisle finally looked up, resting his ankle over his knee to create some semblance of ease.

"Thank you so much for meeting with me today Chief Swan, Bella." Carlisle never thanked me for meeting with him.

"Please, you know I never liked it when you called me Chief Swan," Charlie said gruffly, pursing his lips and averting his eyes. Charlie held peculiar respect for Carlisle. It was one I never understood.

"Charlie," Carlisle corrected with a smile. "It has been awhile, hasn't it? I'll swear it, the last time I saw Bella before our sessions she was but 4 feet tall." They were talking like I wasn't even in the damn room. I tapped my foot up and down on the carpet in annoyance.

"I'll say," Charlie chuckled, reaching over to pat the top of my head. I cringed.

"You're probably wondering why I asked you to join us today," Carlisle began, clacking his pen on the notepad. The pleasantries were obviously over. It was time to get down to business.

"Well, I didn't even know Bella was seeing you at all," Charlie admitted, to which Carlisle tightened his eyes slightly.

"Which I explained to you over the phone," Carlisle reminded with an aggressive tone. I wasn't exactly sure what they had talked about on the phone, but apparently Carlisle was displeased with Charlie for bringing it up in front of me. Charlie recognized the aggression and straightened up on the couch, towering over my slouch.

"Yeah, well."

"I only ask you talk to me about what happened when your wife, Renée, left."

Charlie all but blanched at the topic, his eyes darting to my face as if I were the mastermind behind the ingenious plan to get him to actually speak about his wife's obvious disappearance. I simply shook my head in a dejected manner and continued picking at a hangnail on my thumb.

"That was a long time ago," Charlie said curtly, his hand finding a planned resting place on his gun.

"Yes, 12 years ago, correct?"

Charlie nodded.

"Have things changed?"

Charlie nodded.

"Could you give me examples?"

Charlie shrugged.

"How about you, Bella?"

I looked up at my name being spoken. The hangnail, pulled back just a bit too far, began to bleed.

"I don't remember much," I admitted. Charlie looked at me with a glare that screamed treachery.

"I thought we were here to talk about rape," Charlie snapped. I grimaced and Carlisle stood from his chair. In that moment it would have been safe for me to describe Carlisle as frightening. He loomed arrogantly above Charlie, gun be damned, and crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes were dark and hardened, not the liquid gaze I was used to in our open conversations, and they were directed in a steel glare at Charlie's. Two egos in one room was a bit frightening, but I could already begin to see Charlie concede.

"Do I need to ask you to leave, Chief Swan? Need I remind you, we are here to help Bella." The slip into the other title did not go unnoticed. I inched away from their silent battle of ego and will, pressing myself into the far end of the couch.

I saw the gears whirring in Carlisle's head, and I could practically predict the exact moment he would speak.

"Bella, would you consider talking to Edward for a few minutes outside? Then I could call you back in. This would not be part of your hour, of course," Carlisle said calmly.

"'S fine," I mumbled, pushing myself off of the couch. I kept a wide berth between myself and the two men on my way to the door. I think I knew that I wasn't in any real danger, but there was no need to push my limits.

The hallway was empty and eerily quiet when I exited the room. It was strange, especially because I was always used to Edward greeting me in the exact spot that he was absent. I walked slowly down the dark wooden stairs, my feet echoing ominously into the foreboding awning. I didn't know what it was about the house that made it seem so empty and cold to me. I assumed it was because I was comparing it to a time when it wasn't so empty and cold. When Edward and I were younger, and it was simple, and days were brighter.

Esme stood at the sink washing dishes, her eyes trained on the outside, her stare blank. I knocked timidly on the doorframe, causing her to jump and drop a dish into the sink with a splash.

"Oh, Bella dear," she gasped, her hand on her heart, "you scared me."

"Sorry."

"Looking for Edward?"

"Yeah."

"I think he's out back."

"'K."

The Cullen house was engulfed in forest. That included the constant mass of tree that was growing ever-closer to the backside of their house. Occasionally they used to hire people to quell the impossible throng. They would try to build fences to hinder the wildlife, or they would spray poison to kill the fast-growing weeds, but all usually were proclaimed useless when the rain washed away any semblance of progress. It was obvious that they had long stopped trying. The brush and blades of grass were as tall as my waist only inches from the house. They had a small wooden deck that used to be spotless, but tiny growing weeds could be seen rising through the cracks.

Edward stood on the deck, his back resting against the moldy panels of the house, a cigarette resting carelessly between his teeth as he rocked it up and down. He didn't seem all too surprised to see me, for he casually glanced my way and then took a long drag, blowing the smoke through his nose.

The hypocrisy was not lost on me.

Then again, people change.

"Aren't you still supposed to be up there?" He glanced at his watch to reassure his guess. "Yeah, there's like, 30 more minutes or something like that." He tapped the ashes of the cig with his pointer finger. They fell life fairies to the filth.

"Charlie and Carlisle are talking alone or something," I explained, standing next to him. I rested my back against the wall. The seeping cold of the wet panes leaked into my thick jacket.

Edward nodded and took another drag. His eyes were half-lidded and his nose was still a bit pink from when he was sick. Or maybe it was just the cold. I didn't know. I just knew he was going to be at school on Monday. That was all I really knew, I guess.

We stood in silence until the cig dwindled down to nothing, at which point he dropped it to the wet ground and stomped on it with his foot.

"What if I kissed you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I couldn't, even if I wanted to."

I paused at that. It was probably true.

"You could…" I denied it anyways.

"Come on. It would have to be you kissing me. You know it wouldn't work the other way around, Bella. You know it."

"Shut up."

So he did. He pulled out another cig and his lighter, fumbling with it a bit before managing to light up. His hand was shaking slightly, from what I didn't know, as he pressed the small stick to his lips. The smoke came out in waves on his exhale before dissipating into the mist.

I stood in front of him but he didn't look at me. He wouldn't even fucking look at me. He just sucked on his cigarette, all arrogant and misleading, until I just fucking kissed him.

It wasn't even kissing him, really.

It was more like when a mom kissed her son goodnight or something like that. I barely even felt his lips. I just tasted the leaking smoke and the dewy air and the subtle heat that I craved, craved. Constantly.

His eyes widened in surprise and he took a step forward.

I took two steps back.

One step forward, two steps back.

"Bella?"

Carlisle stuck his head out to us, his breath coming out in puffs into the cold air. Edward pulled the cig behind his back, staring at me as I stared at Carlisle who stared at the Edward quizzically.

"You can come back inside now."

I nodded and without another glance, followed Carlisle back up the stairs to his study. Charlie sat in the same spot, but his demeanor was much more relaxed. Carlisle shut the door behind us before returning to his own chair, his notepad gracing his lap once more. He held eye contact with me just a moment longer than usual before opening his mouth to speak.

"Bella," – he gave me a small half-smile – "we were just talking about your dad's parenting style after your mom's departure." I could have snorted at that one. _What parenting style?_

"I find it really hard, Bella," Charlie began. That was when I was forced to make eye-contact with him. "To be both the dad and the mom to you."

It seemed so painfully obvious to me what to say next, that I wanted to scream it out and laugh at the same time. But I could see that Charlie was struggling. I could see that he was being sincere, and that the problem was plaguing him, so I waited an appropriate amount of time, and when I spoke, I spoke calmly.

"I don't want you to be the mom. Just the dad."

Carlisle grinned, informing me that I had, somehow, said exactly the right thing. Charlie gave me a warm smile. We embraced in an awkward hug that I really just wanted to extricate myself from.

I could lie and say that was the end of our problems.

It wasn't.

Charlie was still mostly the same, at home and outside of it, and I could deal with that. It was generally just the fact that he knew. It was the fact that he knew and he was trying to improve, that really impressed me the most. That was what made our relationship infinitely better than it had been before.

Charlie still dropped me off at school like any other day. We pulled up to the front on Monday, none of the foreboding headlights flashing (much to my relief) and I moved to get out of the car.

"Have a good day, Bella," he said. It was sort of forced, but the sentiment was there. And he didn't call me Bells. Or Belly. Or anything awful like that. I nodded and smiled. It was the least I could do.

When I walked into the school I could sense a shift. It was as though something dramatic had happened that I was completely oblivious to, but everyone else knew about it. There were stares and whispers but they were, surprisingly, not directed at me. They were directed at Edward. Edward, who was still his gorgeous, perfect self. Edward, who was standing alone in a corner, staring at the floor, his spiky, wayward hair spearing out the world. That was who they were directed at.

I backed up. I was close enough so I could hear the conversations of the people closest to me.

'Didn't he used to be friends with everyone?'

'What ever happened to him?'

'I forgot he even went to this school.'

'Yeah, he like died after Tanya dumped his ass.'

'Why doesn't he ever wash his hair?'

'I don't know, it's super gross. Does he even shower? Blech.'

It was all wrong. Even the showering. Even that was wrong. September. It was September, just a few months prior, that everyone loved Edward. I wanted to scream. But before I could do so, James swooped in and hooked arms with me, dragging me to the farthest, most secluded corner of the school.

"Did you see what happened?" he exclaimed. "Did you see it?"

"Why is everyone talking about Edward? What is going on?"

"Did you see what happened?"

"James!"

"He stood up for you. Tanya started yelling shit about him like being your boyfriend. And he stood up for you. Little B, he has balls. I've decided it. I think I like him. Oh, fuck."

"He… you… what?"

"Little B, listen to me," James smirked. "He stood up for you."

***

**Um, yeah. So that one made me sort of nervous. Heh.**

**Okay guys seriously though. Peanut butter and nutella are not equals. Go away.**

**(:**

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**Or…. Team… Carlisle? Mmmmmmmmmcarlisle**

**Team maylin? Team fats? Team shut the fuck up author's notes are annoying?**

**Review? (by the way, you guys totally beat 75. with 76. win!)**


	17. Chapter 17

***

To pee or not to pee?

That was the question.

And oh my God, I had to pee.

There was one thing that two (count 'em, two!) guy friends could not help me with. And that was the woes of the girl's bathroom. There's a reason, guys, that girls go to the bathroom in groups of no less than three. It was because the bathroom is a classified hunting ground ruled by the few and the proud, leaving the rest of us dying underneath their paws like little rats. The lines often led completely out of the bathroom, and there was very much truth in the statement 'strength in numbers'. Unfortunately, neither Edward nor James was allowed in the girl's bathroom. It was a penis thing.

So, unfortunately, it left me wiggling around and crossing my legs at lunch, debating my fretful decision.

"What are you doing?" Edward snorted. He sat across from me, his normal lunch of a sandwich, chips, and a can of Sierra Mist sitting in front of him. The freshmen to our right looked at him as if looking at a god, and I was certain they had not yet heard the news of Edward's violent fall from grace. He hunched over his food, yet it was somehow perversely graceful the way he shielded himself. When I didn't answer he looked up, catching my eye with a brilliant flash of emerald.

"Jesus Christ. Go to the fucking bathroom, Little B," James said, interrupting us.

I shook my head vehemently, instead digging a deep spoonful into my peanut butter. James had long since abandoned Nutella at that point, and was back to his usual applesauce. When Edward first viewed our meals of choice he raised an eyebrow, but made no further comment besides that. My eyes widened when I saw a tall glass of lemonade get spilled at a table in my line of vision. I danced around in my seat a bit more. I would hold out until the end of the day. It was decided.

"Why not?" James pressed.

Instead of responding, I only shook my head once more. He sighed and finished his applesauce in three bites.

My resolve quickly dissolved to the lasting effect of ten minutes. There was still at least half of lunch left, and then two full classes after that. Even I was aware that I would never make it to the end of the day.

"I'll be right back," I squeaked, leaving my peanut butter and backpack abandoned at the table. A quick glance over my shoulder ensured that James was, in fact, keeping his promise to remain civil when alone with Edward (though he had made it a game to stare him down until his eyes watered). I managed to get out of the cafeteria without any events, though I could see the line to the bathroom from around the corner - once again, it was completely out the door. I sighed and trudged the rest of the way, my bladder threatening to burst.

_Okay_, I breathed, purely to myself. The line was long but it was moving surprisingly quickly. Plus, the girls to my right and left were preoccupied with their friends who stood beside them. We slowly trickled down the tiny square tiles, the winding passage into the bathroom ending to the long row of stalls and only three sinks. I waited impatiently, especially after I noticed the bitch brigade on post at the sinks (it was safe to say no one was getting soap today). They were simply putting on their make-up and chatting, so I kept my head down in order to remain unseen. At last, it was my turn. I darted into the stall and finished quickly, eager to rid myself of the area.

Someone must've had the stomach flu. It smelled awful.

I opened the stall and came face to face with big boobs with a cross hanging over the ledge. I gulped and looked up into the eyes of my captor.

"What are you doing in this bathroom, Bella Swan?"

It was funny, for I had no idea that she knew my last name.

"Peeing?"

There was no laughter. Instead, she draped her arm around my shoulder, bringing her lips to my ear. I immediately stiffened, a sickly feeling in my stomach. The girls in line all turned to watch, eyes like owls, unblinking and constant. I looked everywhere but anywhere, keeping my eyes trained on a tile with a strange triangle chip in its upper right hand corner.

"What are you doing with Edward Cullen?" she whispered in my ear. It was completely audible to everyone. The silence was thick, stifling.

"Nothing," I gasped. For that was it. There was nothing. She cackled high and loud, threatening to shatter my eardrum. Jessica and Lauren went all a-twitter beside her.

"Exactly."

She pushed me into the stall, resulting in a bruised shin as bone smacked against porcelain.

Most bathroom stalls had an escape exit underneath the sliding door and to the left and right as well. Unfortunately, the brilliant architect of my own decided that privacy while taking a shit could only be ideal if the walls on all sides extended completely to the floor. Of course, there was a half-inch opening on the bottom and a good foot on top to allow the door to swing, but besides that? Nothing.

I heard a thump and a clatter, along with a chorus of high-pitched laughter. I held my breath, waiting for them to leave. To just leave. When the talking and the giggles and the vomiting sounds from the stall next door finally died down, I let out a heady breath. I stood up from my perch on the toilet seat, pushing against the stall. But it was in vain, for the stall wouldn't budge. Not even an inch. I gasped, throwing my shoulder into the concealing plastic, attempting a weak effort to break it down. Nothing. I made sure the door was unlocked and tried again. Nothing.

I gasped, my body turning circles and my eyes whirring in their sockets. There was no way in hell I could reach the top of the stall, even standing on the toilet. There was no exit from the bottom. There was nothing. The air was stale and filtered quickly through my lungs as I breathed in quick, tight gasps. I pounded my fists against the stall but I did not scream out, for my voice did not work, and I still did not want anyone to hear or pay attention to me. It was awful and contradictory and it was not working at all. I sunk down to the dirty tile, fisting my hands into my hair, trying to calm myself down but failing miserably. My knees pulled up to my chest and I let out an unexpected whimper. It echoed off of the walls in the empty room.

I sat there for so long. Too long, too long. At some point I realized I was crying, and then a bell rang, and more panic. Everything was falling on me at once and there was no escape for the walls were just too damn _high _for me to get out.

"Bella?" He was calling for me but it was too far away and the walls were just too damn _high_.

"Bella?" It was another try, closer still, but I just couldn't. I just couldn't.

"Bella?" Once more, outside my door, a slight shove, just a bit more, a click of a lock, and I was free.

He towered above me, from my pitiful state on the floor he could have been one hundred feet tall. His bronze hair was framed by a halo of florescent lighting, blotching his skin but igniting his hair like an uncontrollable wildfire. His mouth opened slightly. Was he going to talk? I was not sure, for I ducked my head in between my knees in disgust. I was found useless on a bathroom floor, discarded. There was a whoosh of exhaled breath, coming out in the sound of a deep 'oh', but no distinct words.

"Oh," he said, for that one was intentional, "it will be all right. It will be okay. It will." All words were a tumult of single thought, strung together and hard to discern. I still didn't want to see him. I didn't want to see him see me.

"Bella, come on, Bella." His hands were on my shoulders then, the tingling in my skin and bones ever-present and magnified intensely. I sucked in a breath and open my eyes and, my God, he was right there in front of me. He was sitting on the floor of a dirty, disgusting girl's bathroom for me. Before I was even aware of my actions I was in his lap, my arms pulling him as close to me as possible, the thick smell of salt and deodorant and boy stinging my nose. He inhaled in surprise, and then slowly wrapped his arms around my lower back, resting his cheek against the top of my head.

The bell rang twice more, and as if by some act of higher being no one had to use the bathroom during that time. I saw the wire that kept me trapped in the stall discarded on the floor.

It was only when I calmed to a steady heartbeat that I noticed my proximity to Edward's neck. Only inches of movement would allow my lips to contact the quickly-grown stubble there. Bronze chest hair peeked precariously out from the top of his t-shirt, taunting me. It didn't really matter that we were on the floor of the bathroom anymore. It didn't really matter why I was on the floor of the bathroom in the first place either, or the fact that Edward had to see me at my worst. I just wanted to kiss him. For real. Everywhere.

The tingles emerged rapidly in the pit of my stomach. They lay dormant for far too long, and the rush was so immediate and overwhelming that I had to clench my eyes shut simply to contain myself. Edward hadn't moved or noticed anything at the time, for he still sat in the same position, warm air leaking across the top of my head.

I closed the distance from my lips to his throat with little to no regret. Was it to satiate the almost-always-absent desire that suddenly burned in the pit of my stomach? Was it because I was emotionally spent? Was it because it was Edward? Was I just crazy? I didn't know. I hardly knew anything, really. Just that his stubble felt like sandpaper to naked lips, but skin to skin was fire and flame and everything I needed.

He let out a small gasp that morphed to a moan, which caused his hands to tighten around my back. I moved my lips up his neck to his jaw, farther and farther just to the base of his ear.

"Bella, don't," he protested so weakly that its only purpose was to encourage me. I ran my lips over his own, at which point he responded eagerly. The taste of smoke and musk was prominent on his mouth and I felt him haphazardly pull my upper lip into his mouth. His hands fisted tightly into my shirt, stretching the fabric around my stomach as I tried to push myself closer to him. I opened my mouth to take a breath and Edward decided that was his invitation, for his tongue plunged into the opening, tracing my own. I gasped as I felt his fingers trail down over my butt and wrap around my thighs, pulling me into him, up and around him, up and around_ him_.

I felt him and, _oh_, I was scared. But I was also nervous and excited and way too worked up to stop only to worry about regretting it later.

I ran my fingers through his hair and dug my nails deep, eliciting a small cry that I felt rumble deep in the pit of his chest.

Warm fingers ran recklessly underneath the fabric of my shirt, stroking soft skin.

"We have to... you need... Bella," Edward murmured around my lips, his hands finding purchase on the dimples in my lower back and pressing me to him. The rough denim of our pants scratched against each other, creating friction in disguise. "I need," he moaned, and I felt his hips thrust upwards. I gasped in surprise, causing him to stop suddenly and meet my eyes. His own were heavy with lust, thick and dark, charcoal leaking into forest green. His lips were parted, inviting, and I answered that invitation with a kiss. A yes.

His face fell limp to my shoulder where the soothing cool of his tongue mixed with the heat there. I whimpered every time our jeans brushed, for it was taking _too long_ and I was too far gone.

Edward gave me no warning before he came. His hands tightened on my waist and in one fluid grunt, I felt him spasm and then fall limp beneath me. He brushed the hair away from my shoulder and kissed my skin gently. He backed up to look at my face, which I hoped held a soothing neutral. Something must've been off, for he grimaced and released one hand from me and ran it through his hair. My eyes widened and he sighed.

"I shouldn't have done that. Oh, Jesus Christ. Oh," he whispered quietly. Everything was loud when it was just us.

I wanted to tell him that he should have, that I wanted it, that I asked for it, that I caused it, but the words were stuck and jumbled in my throat.

"I'm sorry. You weren't r-ready... I shouldn't have done that. Oh. I shouldn't have. You weren't - I didn't, fuck!" He moved me off of his lap with the least amount of touch possible, and for some reason I felt as if I were a forgotten luggage, deposited somewhere to overlook. His eyes were wild, panicked. "I'm sorry." He stood up in a flash, and just like that he was gone. I was alone in the stall but this time the door was open for me. Even so, I still felt trapped, like I couldn't get out, like the walls were just too damn _high_.

I curled up in a ball, forgotten.

James came in awhile later, walking into the girl's bathroom as if it were his second home.

"I knew he'd fuck it up," he muttered. "It's okay, Little B. You can lean on me."

***

**thanks very much to revrag for the beta**

**so fucking amazed to last chapter's response. I'm groveling before you all.**

**to those who sent me a PM that i didn't respond to - your PMs are off, so i can't. sorry!  
**

**the results for the fandomgivesback fundraiser were AMAZING, thanks to everyone who supported such a great cause!**

**how did you guys like that one movie that just came out? what was it again? I kid, I kid. Edward angstface is impossible to forget ;)**

**review?**


	18. Chapter 18

I curled into a ball on my bed. I felt intentionally violated. It was like a mirror into my past, or a scab picked off of a fresh wound. I began to bleed again, pulling the comforter up and around my shoulders as a shield. James sat by my side, his hand cupping my shoulder, but he said no words. Charlie came over later that evening and kicked James out of the house, not even bothering to listen to his defense. He tried to talk to me, I knew that. I knew I couldn't respond. I knew I couldn't respond because I knew I couldn't listen; I knew I couldn't hear.

He let me skip the rest of the week of school. Edward never called. Not once. I couldn't tell time from space, only the distant rise and set of the sun through my partially cracked window. James came over twice but he wasn't allowed inside. I was sure Charlie thought that he was at fault for whatever returned me to my hell.

I wasn't seeing Carlisle. I couldn't go to his house. I just couldn't.

Carlisle tried to call. Carlisle was the only one who tried to call. I wouldn't speak to him. I just couldn't. I couldn't.

"How are you feeling, Bella?" Charlie sat down on the side of my bed. I faced the wall. I didn't look at him. "I know you don't want to talk but, jeez Bell, I gotta know what happened. At least at some point. I gotta know." I pushed my fists into my eyes. I wanted to fall asleep and make time pass quicker.

Charlie left and returned hours or days later. He knocked on the doorframe. I didn't open my eyes.

"Bella, Edward is downstairs," he said. I pushed a pillow over my head. "He wants to take you to see Carlisle. You haven't been in awhile, I mean, I know that's not good for you."

"I don't care," I whispered, voice hoarse. Charlie seemed surprised by the sudden response. He crossed to my bed quickly and sat beside me, his hand resting tentatively on the top of my head.

"I don't want to go with him," I confessed. Charlie paused for a moment and all I could hear was his gentle, slow breathing.

"I can go into work late today. I'll just take you," Charlie said. "You just gotta get up, Bella. I don't like seeing you like this. I don't like it." I pulled the comforter up to my chin, unwilling. "Do it for me?"

I acquiesced because I couldn't break his heart again.

Charlie left to allow me to change, and I peered out my window to see Edward still waiting on the porch. I saw Charlie return to the front door and say a few words, to which Edward made wild hand gestures. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I could tell an angry Edward when I saw one. Charlie crossed his arms over his chest and scowled, his words steady and slow. It seemed to placate Edward for he averted his eyes and nodded, stepping backwards down the porch. He hunched his shoulders and walked to the car, the reverberating slam of the door leaking through my windowpanes upon his entrance. He paused with his hands on the steering wheel and darted his eyes to my window before staring straight ahead once more. His hand slammed down on the steering wheel with a slap before he peeled out of the driveway so quickly there were rubber burns left on the pavement.

I heard Charlie's steady tread up the stairs, causing me to change quickly. I didn't even notice what I wore. I didn't even notice.

We drove to the Cullen's place in silence, the only noise being the steady downpour of rain on the windshield, and the windshield wipers trying in vain to keep the glass clear. We pulled up the driveway and Charlie sighed, throwing the car into park.

"I'll be back to pick you up in an hour, okay?"

I nodded and stepped out into the rain.

I didn't have to knock, for the door was thrown open before I even got there. Edward stood before me all bloodshot eyes and gaunt cheekbones, his breath heaving in his chest. A quick glance over my shoulder told me that Charlie had already backed out of the vicinity, leaving me alone with Edward.

"Let me by," I said with startling conviction.

"Wait, listen to me." He reached his arm out and let it drop before it touched me. I cringed at the reminder.

"No."

"Bella, please."

He was blocking the door.

"I said no."

"But –"

"_No_," I snapped, pushing past him.

"Wait!"

"That's enough," Carlisle bellowed, appearing as if from thin air at the top of the stairs. "Edward, go to your room. Bella, come with me." I saw how white his knuckles were, gripping the railing with unnecessary force.

"But –" Edward attempted to protest again.

"I said go," Carlisle cut him off, his calm voice infinitely more menacing than his infuriated one. I turned around to see Edward storm down the hall, the slam of a door echoing towards us. Carlisle sighed and rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Well… shall we?"

I followed him to the study where he sat across from me, as per usual. Usually he started with a question, but this time was different. This time he started our session with an outright statement. That was how I knew this time would be different. That was how I knew Edward had changed everything. For the better or for the worse, well, that I didn't know.

"I would just like to remind you," he said, "anything that is said between us is only that – between you and me. Nothing will be discussed with my family. Not unless you wish any one of them to join in on one of our sessions."

I nodded, still not ready to divulge. Carlisle seemed to sense this, for he placed his notepad on the table and took off his reading glasses.

"I also would like to confess that I do know what happened at your school last week. Edward came to me. It was surprising, but he did. Given that, I only know what happened in his perspective. I have no idea how it affected you, nor your intentions. I will not look down on you over anything that you say, even if he is my son."

Whenever Carlisle spoke, his feelings on matters were particularly absent. He didn't give insight on what he was feeling, or what Edward was feeling. He simply stated that he knew what had happened, but he didn't talk about the consequences – for either party. I sometimes wondered if it would have been easier if Carlisle simply told me how Edward felt, for I consistently felt as though I was alone. Alone and in the wrong.

"So you know what happened then," I hedged awkwardly, my hands twisting into fists on my lap.

"You do not have to tell me any specifics, Bella."

I nodded, biting my lip. In fact, I hardly told him anything. The things I spent most detail on were Tanya, the bathroom, and Edward finding me inside. My cheeks inflamed beyond that, and I couldn't go into great detail without feeling the hollow pit in my chest grow under the feeling of being unwanted. Rejected.

"Were there major differences between this time and the last?"

I furrowed my brow, unsure of what he meant.

"Well, what I have noticed is that you will willingly talk to me about what happened between you and Edward, but every time we speak of the incident with boy X, you close off. You will not speak to me at all about it."

Boy X was the name to which we had given my boyfriend of the 8th grade. The few times we had breached the subject, the main reason that I was speaking to Carlisle in the first place, I refused to give any details or motives. I refused to give up any information at all.

I nodded in agreement to his statement, for it was true, and I couldn't deny that. It didn't change the fact that I wasn't good enough for Edward, and it didn't change the fact that I couldn't be if I tried, but it was still true. I could accept that.

"Can you think of any other differences?" he asked, subtly picking up his notepad, pen poised to strike.

I froze up and shook my head, my eyes trained on my lap.

"How about you write it down?"

I looked up to see Carlisle handing me the notepad and pen. It was curiously blank. Perhaps he had opened a new page, I wasn't sure. All I knew was that the horizontal lines stared back at me, taunting me with their emptiness. The pen twitched in my hand and I looked up to see Carlisle's eyes on my forehead. I bit my lip and Carlisle spoke again.

"I'll give you a minute."

He left me in the room alone, the light click of a lock sounding as the door shut. I chewed on the inside of my cheeks and stared anywhere but at the empty paper. The rain was still falling steadily, cascading sheets splattering the window consistently. The windowpanes were fogged up from the humidity inside the house and I had the curious urge to draw a heart in it, or some other childlike picture. I glanced down at the paper again.

At first, I could only write facts.

_With Edward it was on bathroom floor instead of in bed._

_With Edward I didn't take off clothes._

_With Edward Charlie didn't come in._

_With Edward nobody saw._

_With Edward he left on his own._

Gradually my writing became more illegible, frantic to write the words on paper before they jumbled up again in my head.

_With Edward I wanted to._

_With Edward he broke my heart._

My hand began to tremble and I threw the notepad on the floor as if it were a poisonous snake. Carlisle opened the door just moments later, the light scrape of the wood against carpet the only sound in the room. Carlisle's eyes darted to the notepad on the floor. He closed the door quickly and scooped it up. He seemed relieved to find words on the paper. He gave me a confident smile and then read through them, my teeth biting my fingernails.

If the words affected him in any way, he did not show it. He calmly set the notepad on the table and raised his eyes to mine, looking at me over the frames of his glasses.

"I'm very proud of you," he said.

We were silent for a few minutes, the ticking of the clock counting the seconds for us.

Carlisle broke the silence, of course.

"You wrote this difference here," he pointed to something I couldn't read on the notepad. His voice was very soft. "You wrote that with Edward, you wanted to."

I nodded.

I didn't want to think about how much I wanted to.

I didn't want to think about how he didn't want me back.

"Meaning that with Boy X, you didn't want to?"

"I told him yes."

"I know, but did you want to?"

I held my breath for a moment.

"I guess not. I don't know. I guess not."

The corners of Carlisle's lips twitched up to a very brief, very small smile. Simultaneously there sounded three gentle raps on the door. Carlisle turned to me and divulged a real smile before bidding me good evening. I looked out the window to ensure Charlie's presence in the driveway before I moved to the door. Just as I was about to turn the knob Carlisle stopped me.

"Oh, goodness," he cursed. I fought a smile, for the word choice exemplified Carlisle. "You want me to get Edward to leave, right? Goodness, what was I thinking?" I nodded politely, relieved I wouldn't have to face him. I wasn't ready. I wouldn't have been able to put my thoughts to words.

Carlisle motioned for me to sit back down when he approached the door. Sure enough, Edward stood on the other side, a piece of crumpled notebook paper in his hands.

"Bell -" he started, and then stopped when he realized it was Carlisle whom he was facing.

"Bella wants to leave, son," Carlisle said calmly, "I will talk to you soon if you need me."

The surprise of seeing Carlisle seemed to have stunned Edward to silence, for he didn't respond. He just stared.

"Please move," Carlisle said, harsher now. Edward seemed to snap out of it. He looked straight over Carlisle's shoulder to where I sat on the couch. When we made eye contact I immediately looked at the floor, suddenly intensely interested in the carpet.

"Bella. Bella, I have something for you. See?" I didn't look up. "Just, Dad wait, just give this to her. Bella. Bella! Read this, okay? Read it, okay?"

"Edward, you need to leave."

"Bella!"

"Edward, now." There was a thud as something hit the wall. I refused to look up.

"Bella, I'm sorry!" Yes, sorry. Sorry he ever noticed me. The slam of the door left me alone in Carlisle's study. It was eerily quiet. It no longer rained. It was just me and the empty air in an empty room. Carlisle returned only moment later, but for some reason it felt as though it was an eternity. I noticed he held the paper Edward was holding, but it was balled up in his fist. Carlisle then walked me outside to the porch where he paused my departure by placing a hand on my shoulder.

"Edward wanted me to give you this," he sighed, holding out the piece of paper to me. "I can understand if you do not want to take it. We both understand." I knew that when Carlisle's eyes darted to the room off to his left, that that was where Edward was watching our interaction. I bit my lip and looked at the floor before assessing the unoffending piece of paper. Did I want to verify Edward's refusal to me on paper? Could I stand reading that? I couldn't decide.

"Not… yet," I replied. Carlisle nodded, though I could tell from the sudden crash in the kitchen that Edward did not respond with as much understanding. Carlisle glared at him from the corner of his eye, and then gave me a polite smile. He pocketed the note and stepped out onto the porch to join me, shutting the door behind him.

"If your dad can't drive you here, either Esme or I can pick you up tomorrow," he said quietly. I nodded, noticing the small corner of paper that peeked out from his pocket.

"Thank you, Carlisle," I whispered. "For everything."

***

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**Is Bella frustrating you? (:**


	19. Chapter 19

**bout 75% said yes, bella frustrated them (but they also understood her)  
go team!**

***

Diet of Worms.

Diet of Worms.

Worms.

Worms. Worms.

Ew.

"You're not focusiiiing," James trilled, lounging off the edge of my bed. He lay with his back on the floor and his feet up on the blankets as though it were an inverted chair. He wore a leather jacket with heavily worn cuffs and a smirk that annoyed me to no end. I grumbled and threw the book at his head, which he caught deftly, his eyes skimming the page. "Diet of worms? Do they like, eat worms and shit or something?" He looked genuinely confused, setting the book on the ground.

"No," I snorted a laugh, leaning back only to slam my head into the wall. "Ouch," I snapped, rubbing the back of my skull. James rolled his eyes.

I heard footsteps climbing the stairs followed me a light knock on my door. There was little to no pause before it opened.

"You okay up here Bells?" Charlie. "I thought I heard a book fall or something." His eyes darted from the book that James sat next to and back up to me, back and forth.

"Oh no I'm fine, I just hit my head against the wall," I said, still rubbing it. Duh.

"James needs to go home soon." He looked straight at him.

"Okay," I shrugged. He shot one more look to James and the history book before backing out the way he came, closing the door with a decisive thunk. I heard his footsteps pad heavily to his own room, and the shut of the door that told me he was done for the night. "What time do you have to go?" I asked James. He shrugged in response, looking out the window into the night. "Dunno," he replied eventually, dismissive.

I glanced at the clock. 10 PM.

"Maybe you should go..." I suggested, unaware of the reaction that it would cause. He jumped to his feet, fuming. I could see the fire in his eyes, feel it coming off of him in waves of anger. I cowered slightly back into the bed, pressing myself further into the wall. He was James. I knew he wouldn't... do anything. But that didn't mean I wasn't afraid, alone, in a bed, in a room, with a boy. An angry boy.

"Yeah, sure, fuck, whatever. Just leave me. That's awesome, little B. What am I to you anyways? Not your only friend, that's for sure," he spouted off. He spit a bit. It landed on my bed.

"You're my friend," I pressed, trying to sound as valid as possible. It wasn't as if the words were untrue. They were true. Yet I still felt the need to place lie behind them, to enforce them with a measure of falsity that was never present before.

"Whatever. I don't even care." He turned and awkwardly pushed himself out the window, one leg following the other like dead weight, only barely managing to escape unscathed under the sill. I heard the thump of his body walking carelessly on the roof, though I made no move to watch his departure. I cringed, feeling helpless and exhausted. Mostly though, I felt the latter. Tired. I wanted to sleep all day, burrow under the covers and never return. Minutes after James left I did just that, not bothering to shed my day clothes as I pulled the comforter up and around my shoulder blades, face pressed into the comforting fabric. I inhaled deeply, for the scent often reminded me of a long-lost mother. I had a feeling Charlie still purchased the same detergent, unwilling to part with her mannerisms. He did the same with napkins and condiments, Tupperware and saran wrap. I never questioned it.

As I began to drift into the frantic thoughts that often occurred as I tried to sleep, I realized it had been two full weeks since I spoke to Edward.

Either Carlisle or Esme picked me up to take me to counseling. I sat alone with James at lunch. I arrived at school in a police cruiser, my truck still sitting a dejected red in my driveway. Carlisle set up an alarm that signaled the end of our sessions, a harsh buzz that burst my eardrums and made them beg for the gentle rap of Edward's knuckles on wood. I cringed every time it went off, remembering my loss. In my mind I only begrudgingly admitted that I missed him, even though I could feel it in every fiber of my bones. I still wouldn't say it out loud. Once again, I knew it was fear that kept me from pursuing apologizes. I feared I would lose him, I feared he would hate me, I feared I would never talk to him again, I feared approaching him for the last time.

The note in Carlisle's pocket plagued my mind, and it was the last image I saw before I drifted into dreamless sleep.

The next morning was calm and unusual, a typical Thursday filled with slow and tired movements. Charlie drove me to school. Occasionally he slipped into calling me my childhood name of Belly, though this morning he did not, and for that I was grateful. The slow trudge into the school was filled with stiff muscles and hardly any voices, all large yawns and sighs. 'Another Thursday', claimed the collective groan of first period roll call.

James showed up with Nutella at lunch. I could say I was surprised but I wasn't. I also wasn't surprised when he didn't use the spork I provided, and when he stared right through me instead of looking at me.

I was only surprised when Edward walked noiselessly behind me, and sat beside James with a huff. I blanched and James visibly cringed, moving his food to the side as if Edward's mere presence contaminated its contents. Edward didn't seem to notice James' reactions, for he only held my eye contact with a steady stare. With me, not through me.

"It's been two weeks." His voice was rough, as was his stubble (for I imagined it beneath my fingertips).

I only nodded minutely, my mouth parted slightly in stupidity. I was angry at myself for not responding with some intelligence. He cleared his throat, brow furrowed as he glanced down at his hands. It was only then that I noticed the same note, though perhaps more worn, crumpled, and dirtied, sitting in them.

"My deal with Carlisle was that, um" - he cleared his throat again - "that I would give you space for 2 weeks. Not say anything and, I mean, I haven't," he paused, "but now that it's been two weeks, I can offer it again." He slid it across the table and quickly removed his hands, placing them in his lap. I could only stare at it in stupidity and as if my moment of failure wasn't great enough, it lasted just a second too long. For when I was about to take it he reached up quickly and snatched it back, his head ducked down. "Right. That's fine. I get it."

It didn't sound like it was fine. It didn't sound like it was fine at all. He stood up quickly. Too quickly for me to warn him. Too quickly for me to warn him that Jessica Stanley was standing precariously close, a bowl of mashed potatoes balanced carefully on her tray. All hope was lost when right in front of me Edward swiveled and turned away, walking immediately into Jessica's tray, flipping it up and splattering its contents in a wild mess against her chest. Potatoes dripped evenly down her shirt and skin, seeping into her clothes. Gravity allowed the large chunks to land on the floor in an oddly delicate slap and squish. Jessica inhaled with fury, and the entire cafeteria fell quiet.

Somewhere in the distance I heard James let out a loud guffaw. It should have sounded piercing against the quiet of the cafeteria, but for some reason the sound was muted and dull to my ears.

"You did not just do that," Jessica breathed. I couldn't see Edward's face, but I assumed he was mortified.

I was wrong.

He let out a loud snorting laugh, slapping his palm against his mouth to stifle it. My eyes widened exponentially, and I quickly noticed the unintentional grin that took up the majority of my face.

"Agh! You-you... loser!" Clever.

Instead of storming out of the cafeteria in a huff like in the movies, Jessica's long-term infatuated "fling", Mike Newton, came quickly to her aid, a large drink in his hand and a scowl marring his features. The cafeteria watched in awe as little Mike Newton, no taller than 5'9", stood on his tip toes to pour the drink on Edward's head. Edward, surprisingly, made no move to stop him, but jumped as the liquid inside the cup, which turned out to be an obnoxiously purple slushy, was dumped on his head and shoulders. I watched the cold, artificially-colored ice drip slowly down the back of Edward's shirt.

"Asshole," Mike smirked, triumphant.

And then Edward lunged. He tackled Mike to the floor, both boys sliding in an awful mixture of potatoes and slushy, off-white and purple, dirty linoleum. They flipped on top of each other as a growing decibel of the chant 'fight' pushed them on. It was clear that Edward had the upper hand, for there was simply more of him. The fact was proved true when Edward pinned Mike to the ground. He didn't hesitate to throw a clenched fist directly into his face. Mike wailed as blood spurted like a fountain from his nose, clearly broken. James ran back and forth around the fight, a mad-man hyped up, impossible to stop. The rest of the cafeteria grew restless and began eying each other, wanting another fight. More action.

Piercing whistles infiltrated the room and a storm of faculty followed quickly behind.

The principal stormed over, all cigarette smoke and caterpillar mustache, pointing to us.

"You four. Office. Now." I wondered why it was so impossible for people to speak in full sentences when they were mad.

Mike Newton was carted off to the emergency room when it became clear that he was losing too much blood to remain healthy. That left Edward, Jessica and me alone in the office. Of course, I was only there because of my proximity. And truthfully, Jessica hadn't done anything either.

"Wow. I didn't even do anything. Ugh," Jessica whined my thoughts, brushing at the quickly-drying mashed potato stains on her clothes. I shrugged and Edward remained quiet, bloody, bruised knuckles hanging idle in his lap. "Ugh, I _would_ be stuck here with you two. Just my fucking luck, right?" And still, her voice was the only one in the room. "I will never get these stains out! You have _got _to be kidding me. I bought this blouse yesterday. Fuck you very much, Edward."

"Shut up," Edward snapped, his voice filled with so much venom that even Jessica Stanley listened. The receptionist politely ignored our tirade, a phone stuck between her shoulder and her head. She wasn't even talking into it. It was weird. Five more minutes of stillness left me restless and uneasy, and while I tried to make eye contact with Edward, he refused to respond. Instead he stared straight ahead, eyes unmoving, unblinking. His knuckles were starting to swell and bruise, and in all honestly the slushy that tainted his grey shirt was beginning to smell. His hair was matted down due to the weight of the sugary drink, and it too was dyed a slightly different color.

I was so timid towards Edward that I was beginning to annoy even myself. I held a breath and released it before finally doing something daring (by my standards, at least). Reaching my fingers forward I gently brushed the swollen skin of Edward's knuckles, feeling his pulse, unusually fast, underneath my fingertips. Instead of pulling away his fingers relaxed slightly, releasing themselves from their clenched state. Still, he didn't meet my eye, and I knew I had to push myself further in hopes of receiving the note he tried to give. I used the same move again, this time gently tracing the hard bones of his knuckles, the valleys and peaks that outlined the ridges. Edward let out a breath and instead of looking toward me like I hoped, he looked the opposite direction.

I furrowed my brow. I needed to give him a reason to talk to me just this once, even if he never wanted to speak to me again.

"Does it hurt?" I asked, my voice much too loud and obnoxious for my own ears.

"'S fine," he mumbled, still not looking towards me. I tried again.

"Do you want me to get you some ice?"

He shook his head. I tried to think of another question.

"Um, um..." I mumbled, searching the room for anything relevant. Finally, he turned towards me.

"What?"

"Um... do you think she's actually talking on that phone?" I joked halfheartedly, pointing to the receptionist. She shot me a glare.

"No, I don't think so." And to my relief, he chuckled.

"Oh, so Bella's allowed to talk? Wow. Awesome," Jessica spoke abruptly.

"Shut up," Edward and I both snapped in unison, followed by a shared grin. Jessica huffed and crossed her arms over her mashed potato boobs.

I was building up my nerve to outright ask Edward for the note when the principal stepped out, calling me into his office before the other two. I stood without saying 'goodbye' as I knew our conversation would be brief. I was correct, as even if I had done anything in the cafeteria the principal probably would've let me off anyways. I think the faculty can smell emotional weakness. When I returned to the office both Jessica and Edward were gone, though the remnants of mashed potato and slushy filth remained in their respective chairs. Thankfully, there was only twenty or so minutes left in school. Unwilling to go to my last period class, I trudged outside to wait for Charlie to pick me up. Surprisingly, he was there early. I figured the school called.

We drove in silence, and it wasn't until I changed into my pajamas that night that I found Edward's note lodged carefully in the left pocket of my jeans.

I pulled it out and stared, dumbfounded as how he could have possibly slipped it in there without me noticing. Two days ago and I would have been angry, furious that he pushed his rejection onto me before I was ready to receive it. But today I was sure I could handle it.

I mean, at least I had James.

I opened the crumpled letter to find near-illegible, chicken-scratch scrawl. After all, he was a boy.

_Bella_, it read, though the l's leaked together and the 'a' sat off-kilter when compared to the rest of my name.

_I probably should apologize before I fuck anything up. Or before I fuck anything up more than it's already been fucked up. It pisses me off that you wouldn't let me apologize. _Some words are scratched out, illegible. _I didn't mean that. I figured that if I were to actually talk to you about this you would freak out, or, hell, I would freak out. I don't know. I don't know much at all, really. I can't decide about most things and when people ask me what I want to do for the rest of my life, I have no fucking clue. I know that I don't want to lose you, though. I mean, lose you again. I didn't, mean to. I didn't mean to lose you before. I was just afraid because I was so _- more words are scratched out, illegible. _And about... in the bathroom. I can't even write it. Not that it was bad. It wasn't. I shouldn't have left. I know that. I knew it then, too. I guess overall I'm too afraid to do what I should, but I'm going to be better. I promise that I will be better._

I just need another chance

Edward.

***

**The Diet of Worms (Reichstag zu Worms) was a general assembly of the Imperial Estates of the Holy Roman Empire that took place in Worms  
-google  
****do YOU watch glee? **


	20. Chapter 20

***

After reading the letter I ripped it up. It wasn't because I didn't like it. Hell, I loved it. It just felt more final if I ripped it. I watched all of the little pieces fall to the floor of my room, and proceeded to kick them under my bed afterword. They mingled with the dust, and I was satisfied that I would be the only one to read those words. The words from Edward were for me and for me only. I sighed a gushy girl grin, and leaned back on my bed to stare at the ceiling. I heard my window open and shut, but I wasn't surprised. James' late night, unannounced visits were frequent.

"I got a feelin'. Oooooh ooooooo," he sang, "that tonight's gonna be a good night!" I couldn't even bring myself to be annoyed, but I was wary of Charlie hearing him from downstairs. He did not approve of James' visits, especially if they were late at night, keeping me awake. I smiled to the ceiling and flipped over on the bed to face him. Tonight was already a good night. "What are you so happy about?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

"Nothing," I replied, unintentionally coquettish. He did not believe me for a second. Instead, he crossed the room and sat beside me on my bed, an impish grin on his.

"All right girlfran, spill."

It was my turn to give him an appraising look.

"What?" he defended himself. "I'm bored as fuck, okay?"

"Whatever," I rolled my eyes. I was saved from the persistence of James' inquisition by a knock at my bedroom door. Charlie walked in, lumbering gait and glinting belt, looking towards me and ignoring James completely.

"Edward is downstairs, says he wants to talk to you." He itched a 2-day-old beard with his fingers, creating a harsh sandpaper-like sound that emanated quickly through the room. I cringed. I mean, I didn't cringe because of Edward. I cringed because of Charlie standing in my room, itching his beard, looking completely out of place and eager for an escape. When we broke eye contact Charlie cleared his throat in a gruff manner, all hard emotions and whiskey breath. I noticed a stain on his shirt, remembering specifically the day that he received it. I was eight and first learning how to chop up various bits and pieces of ingredients to tartar sauce. Charlie, after burning the fish (blackened, thanks), turned to me in a flourish. He demanded a taste, picking up a hefty glob with his forefinger. Half of it made it to his mouth, the other half missed. The missing half landed on his shirt, the floor, and the No Man's Land of his beard. It stained.

"Does he need something?" I asked stupidly, my eyes darting to James. He still sat nonchalant, back resting against the wall, the picture of ease.

"He wants to talk to you," Charlie repeated with a questioning glance, possibly considering my sanity. There was often a lot to question, I had to give him that.

"Right. Sorry."

"Don't apologize, just go?" I knew that Charlie often intended to be a guiding father, but moments of force often turned into those of questions.

"Okay." With one last glance to James (which only earned me an apathetic shrug of his shoulders), I brushed past Charlie. Almost immediately my palms began to sweat and my heartbeat quickened, and I found myself wondering what clothes I had haphazardly chosen for pajamas. I was worried to even glance down at my own body, afraid of what I might find. Yet at the same time, I grinned in anticipation, skipping stairs in my haste and wondering exactly why Edward had come. I mean, I knew things had changed significantly since he slipped the note in my pocket. His timing was impeccable, a somewhat sixth sense for determining the exact moment he should arrive, knowing exactly when I would open the note.

If I didn't know any better, I would've assumed him a fortune teller.

The door was mostly closed, only allowing a crack to the outside. I briefly considered Charlie's rudeness on not allowing Edward inside, which was then quickly overshadowed by guilt. Guilt over the fact that Charlie could never again trust any boys that conversed with me. Guilt that he could never again trust me with any of them, either. Guilt that I was most likely keeping him awake, because he was watching Edward from the small window in the corner of his dark, dark bedroom, abandoning sleep. I sucked in a breath (did the action give me confidence? no - the air was stale with leftovers and the wood of the door smelled rotten with mildew) and pushed the offending piece of wood out of the way.

Edward looked up from where he stood, completely out of place on my porch. It rained heavily on the eave that hung low over the porch, sheets and walls of water wilting seamlessly into the night. I saw Edward's hair was marginally wet, darkened because of it. Yet he was framed in faux-florescence, moonlight and darkness and the pure beauty of nature. Instead of inviting him inside, I slipped outside and closed the door tightly behind me. I then pulled us to the corner of the porch – the only section that was completely blocked from Charlie's prying eye. I wondered if he would accost us because of my move, but I assumed he would think our placement an accident.

Before Edward could speak a word, my own came flying from my face in forceful speed.

"I read the note. I read it and I should've read it sooner. I read it and I ripped it up, and now it's all under my bed in a million little pieces."

He blinked.

"You ripped it?"

It took one pregnant pause for me to understand how that sounded.

"I only did it so no one else could read it, that's the only reason, I swear it." His lips curled upward, and sex was all I could think.

"I believe you." His lips curled, tight, pursed, sex.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." His lips parted, breath, heavy, sex.

I took his hands, bandaged from beating bruised knuckles on boys' faces, in my own. Without any former hesitation, they wrapped around my waist, encircled. Instead of lips, leaning touching lips, he missed my own. He dodged, almost, yet with a strict path. For it was only a moment later that I felt his nose skim my neck, inhale, sigh. The touches were an 'I missed you' for our bodies instead of our words, and they responded with the base eagerness that is present only when the brain loses track of its own coherent thoughts.

Then there was only a base need. Eager, primal.

"I missed you," he said, along with the skimming touch of his fingers across my backside, crawling higher and higher up my spine, causing me to shiver in longing.

"Yeah," was all I could manage to form, to which he chuckled. I felt the vibrations down, down, down inside me, tingling and throbbing and sex.

"So you missed me?" Lips ran freely across my neck, rough with stubble yet velvet soft, back and forth, back and forth.

"Yeah," I repeated. I felt cold hard wood as he pushed me against the wall, gentle yet firm in the mysterious contradictions that come with uninhibited pleasure. I felt roaming hands on top of cotton fabric, teasing, teasing, sex.

He hovered just barely above my lips, hunched over, eye level, nose brushing nose brushing forehead brushing cheek. Leg brushing, sex, brushing, sex.

Barely, just barely, barely, our lips touched. Closed mouth, no tongue, hesitant and cool. Smacking sounds drowned out by falling rain hitting wood, hitting earth. I pulled his shirt in towards me closer, closer. His mouth opened for a breath, for a gasp, and his tongue darted out, tentative, retreat. I responded because I couldn't _not _respond, because I needed the double negative to enforce how much I truly wanted his tongue, his tongue, his sex.

A cool concoction of winter air and hot breath mixed in the hurricane between our mouths, touching and tasting and sex.

His fingers, his fingers brushed the tips of my shirt, the tips of my pants, the bare of my skin, erupting in goose bumps. I shivered again, whimpers smothered by lips. The rain began to die down, heightening our noises to the level that I could clearly hear. Hooded eyes filled with desire met my own, mirror images as his touch pressed higher up the pale skin of my back, extending along the smooth expanse. I fell limp against him, suddenly helpless and all-giving to him. I felt him push me further into the wall, closer and closer, and then I felt his sex.

Tap, tap, tap.

Lips pressed firmly into my own again, once, twice, thrice.

Tap, tap, tap.

Calloused, bandaged hands stroked the underwire of my bra, probing.

Tap, tap, tap.

The rain completely halted, leaving amplified sound, amplified senses.

Tap, tap, tap.

One more touch of the tongue.

Tap, tap -

"Stop," I gasped, but only felt a more insistent grasp. "Edward - Edward stop, please." A pause, a hesitance. "Please, stop."

Tap, tap, tap.

He backed away, truly dazed and confused, hands removed from underneath my clothes and shaking slightly. He blinked, reassessing his bearings as he looked around my face and then back into it. I held my breath, worried that he would be disappointed, ashamed, fed up.

Tap, tap, tap.

"Is that a woodpecker?" He heard a woodpecker, I heard a tongue ring. Yet, I nod, for I was sure he was right. Just a bird, it was just a bird. My heartbeat slowed significantly, leaving me with only a reminder of the burning desire for sex, sex. Edward, on the other hand, wasn't as easily calmed down. I could see this visibly, but looked away politely as he adjusted himself. Again, he took in our surroundings. The night, the trees, the wet puddles on the ground. "Did I do something wrong?"

The tapping wasn't as loud now, the woodpecker moving to a new branch on a new tree.

"No," I confessed. And then I was ashamed. "I should go, I'm sorry." Before I had even managed to turn, Edward caught my arm and spun me towards him.

"Wait," his voice was harsh. "Don't just walk away from me. I mean, we don't have to talk about it" - he paused, his forehead pursed as he tried to formulate his thoughts - "but, just, don't walk away, okay? We can talk about it later. Or never. I don't care. Well, I do care, but what I'm trying to say is that we don't have to talk about it now." He huffed and pinched the bridge of his nose in aggravation, and I couldn't help but chuckle slightly. His lips turned up in only one corner in response. "Oh, now you're laughing at me? Great," he smirked playfully.

"No, I just thought that was funny," I giggled. He turned towards me, mischievous.

"Funny? Who's laughing now?"

I shrieked as he tickled my sides. He growled and threw me over his shoulder, opening the door to the house and immediately bathing us in warmth and light. It was only then that I realized exactly how cold it was outside. I protested as he carted me around, eventually throwing me down in a huff on the couch, in our living room. He pressed into my sides, fingers ruthless as I laughed.

"I give up!" I cried.

"What was that?" he grinned.

"I give up!"

Bam.

Edward and I froze, immediately somber as we turned to a fuming Charlie standing in the awning. James smirked from behind him, a headless doll resting in his hands. Charlie had fired his gun, without ammo, at the ceiling. The piercing fire of the gun echoed in my ears. The silence of the room was crippling. Edward moved slowly and awkwardly away from me, moving to a standing position as I sat dumbstruck on the couch. Never in my life had I seen Charlie actually fire a gun, ammo or not. I stared at him, eyes wide in both fear and respect. Edward's expression mirrored mine, though I saw a bit more fear in his.

"What's going on in here?" Charlie sad slowly, his voice the tone of a dying cat, growling its last protest.

"Nothing, I swear, Chief Swan. We were just going to watch a movie?" Edward blurted out. _We were?_ Edward's eyes darted towards mine, asking for back up.

"Yeah, that's it. That's all, Dad. Calm down. Put the gun down, okay?"

I watched James throw the headless doll up and down behind Charlie's shoulder. Up and down. Up and down.

To my relief, Charlie hesitantly lowered the gun. Something seemed to click in his mind when I spoke, and his next words were spoken directly to me.

"Nothing's happening?" he asked, almost breathless. I felt guilty. So incredibly guilty for making him so incredibly anxious.

"Nothing," I assured him, only to convince him for this time, not the next.

"Okay. Edward can stay to watch a movie, and then he has to go home."

Even though it was only eight on a Friday night, I didn't dare complain about the rule.

We all stood stock still as we listened to Charlie's footsteps mount the stairs. After his door closed, Edward collapsed in a huff, muttering 'Jesus' under his breath. James, still smirking, moved to sit on the other side of me, headless doll still in hand.

"So," James grinned. "What movie do you guys wanna watch?"

***

**Really big an…**

**Thanks to my beta revrag**

**Sorry on the delay on getting this out – White Blood HEA was written for FGB in between updates**

**I'm going to try to get another update out before 10/19, for I'll be out of town 19-25. if not, I'll see ya'll after xmas or kwanza or Hanukkah or whatever the hell you do.**

**Three stories that I highly recommend (aka I am currently obsessed with them)**

**You should check them out**

**1. The University of Edward Masen by SebastienRoubichaud**

**2. Bare by stella luna sky**

**3. Juggernaut by Frenchbeanz (it's a Robward!)**


	21. Chapter 21

***

Weeks passed in a blur of inconsistencies. It was as if I was watching my life from afar, the daily grind becoming a somewhat norm but also taking on a strange tenure that I had never lived before. The pattern was becoming a solid. James, a sporadic yet constant presence. Edward, a tentative relationship filled with awkward touches and moments. Carlisle, failed prescription followed by failed prescription followed by vague progress. Even Charlie, another relationship consisting of moments of brief comfort, but mostly careful interaction. The three men in my life followed consecutively in the day, most often starting and ending in the respective pattern.

There were days when James or Edward would stay far too late, or James and Edward would stay far too late. Charlie didn't seem to mind James much - at least, that is how it seemed. Edward, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. Strict deadlines on time and space, no dates away from the house (save for Edward driving me to and from school every day). I couldn't really blame him. I mean, Edward was bigger and therefore more intimidating to Charlie. Not to mention every time confrontations between us took place they were in precarious positions.

But overall my relationship with Edward couldn't even be titled as such. It was more of an agreement of sorts. The agreement contained an understanding. It was unspoken, but we both understood it.

'Do not fuck with each other.'

Which is why I was incredibly surprised when Edward, waltzing towards me with his usual charismatic gait at the end of school, stopped me in front of his car and asked me to be his girlfriend.

"So I was thinking. Maybe, would you want to go out sometime? Or, I mean, we always hang out at your house so, I was thinking, want to be my girlfriend?"

Just like that.

"Um," I had responded.

"You don't have to," he had cut me off abruptly. "I mean, I know titles always mess shit up and all, but I was thinking that maybe -"

"Sure, I guess." I had stopped his rambling.

It was very romantic. Especially when Tyler Crowley's van swerved haphazardly on a bit of ice and dinged Edward's bumper. Of course, that was proceeded by Edward yelling curses at Tyler, who sped off in the direction of the highway. He had run his fingers along the dark red gash in his precious Volvo (once again, snort, a Volvo) and mumbled profanities under his breath. His face had burned up in anger, his red cheeks matching almost exactly to the color of the offending paint. He had looked up at me afterword. Ashamed.

Just because Edward and I were officially in a relationship didn't mean that the forecast for Forks was constantly sunshine and rainbows.

In fact, it was the opposite.

Edward and I fought. A lot.

We fought over the fact that I was pronouncing poinsettia wrong. We fought over the fact that he thought Russell should've won Survivor while I thought Natalie was best. We fought over the fact that Edward drove a Volvo, for God's sake, and he wouldn't let me wear anything dirty when I sat in the passenger's seat. But we always made up. We would settle (though compromise made us both uncomfortable, being two foolhardy headstrong people) and then we would touch or grope or kiss. There were lines crossed, new lines drawn. Yet there was an interesting, peculiar correlation.

It was James.

James must have had an internal Edward-and-Bella-are-fighting radar, for whenever we were fighting, James would become closer with me, spend more time with me. But, whenever we weren't fighting, James would disappear. Sometimes it was hours, sometimes it was days. Weeks. There was a time in late February that James disappeared for fourteen days. I left the window open for him every night, but he didn't show up. The headless doll was left in a haphazard heap on my floor, accumulating dust in his absence. Forgotten.

*

Twenty questions was beginning to seem like the bane of my existence. It was, quite literally, the worst game every thought up. Sure, it was great when getting to know someone for the first time, I guess. Questions like 'what's your favorite color' or 'what was the name of your first pet' never hurt anyone. But questions like 'do you believe it was your fault that your mother left you' and 'is progress something that truly interests you, or do you believe I am forcing this on you' did hurt someone. And that someone was me, dammit.

I knew Carlisle had a PhD and everything. I mean, he was Dr. Cullen. PhD. Blah, blah, blah. Well, I wasn't trying to discredit the fact that Carlisle had a PhD, because, damn, that's a lot of school. But the twenty questions bit? Please. It was as if he picked up the first 'how to be a psychiatrist' book he could find, and read the first technique under the chapter 'teen'. I wasn't having it.

I wasn't having it to the point that Carlisle decided it would be a good idea to pass a ball back and forth. It was a little basketball that Carlisle stole from Edward's room (or so he admitted on one of the questions that I asked him). See, twenty questions was great when you had equal questions back and forth. But I had to ask Carlisle stupid shit like his favorite color, while he hounded me with the big ones. It got to a point where I was so annoyed that I ended up throwing the basketball at the wall instead of towards Carlisle's awaiting hands.

He then jotted something down on his notepad.

Punk.

"Had enough?" he asked in a sickly sweet voice. Thankfully, instead of being forced to answer his empty question, Edward tapped on the door. He was early. I wasn't complaining.

Carlisle, though, was. He huffed in annoyance. Edward was impeding on our sessions more and more as of late - choosing to spend the rest of the allotted hour away from Charlie's eyes and instead tucked away in his bedroom. Dark, dank bedroom. Thankfully, instead of verbally protesting, Carlisle allowed my immediate departure. I knew I was becoming ungrateful. After all, Carlisle didn't even make me pay for the sessions. But I still couldn't bring myself to throw my whole being into his effort. I felt the intense need to hold back. I had to keep as much as possible under lock down; else I would surely fall apart.

I opened the door to find Edward standing close, a daring smirk on his face.

"What?" I silently mouthed, only to have him shake his head in response and shut the door behind me. He took my hand and pulled me into his room, barely taking notice to the bewildered Esme that we all-but flew past. His room was darker than usual. I was now meeting an hour later with Carlisle, spending the last of the new spring daylight hours locked away in his study. Afterword, Edward and I were left with the beginning of night, the last slivers of sun sneaking away over the horizon.

He pressed his lips to mine, which was followed by a light thud as my back hit the door. His fingers wound around my waist as I reached up to push my own through his hair. It was thick and tangled, needing a trim. Yet, I loved the way that it felt, running along the skin of my fingers, locking in the knuckles, winding. When we moved to breathe I saw the extent of my abuse on his hair, the reddish-brown locks spiking this way and that, ignorant to the laws of gravity. I smiled and brushed my lips lightly against his. Not a kiss, just a breath, just a whisper, just -

"I love you."

I heard my sharp intake of breath after Edward's words, but I didn't feel it. Edward paused, his teeth locked on to one corner of his bottom lip, the pink slowly transforming to white. After three exhales, I watched Edward's mannerisms take shape. He removed one hand from my waist and ran it through his hair. He then swallowed hard - Adam's apple bobbing up and down, up and down. Three blinks to the right only to stare at the ground, still no words. His eyes met mine again.

"It wasn't supposed to come out that way." His words were abrupt, clipped.

"Oh," was all I could manage. _Oh_.

"It wasn't supposed to... shit. You're not going to... say it back... then."

Edward hardly ever stuttered. He took measured pauses. Measured pauses before each word. Contemplation.

"I don't know what love feels like," I finally confessed. "I wouldn't know. At least, I don't think I would know... even if I was in love with you now. How do you know?"

The last question threw him, made him pause. He took a breath, spoke.

"I know because of the way you make me feel. I mean, you make me feel like I'm whole or complete or something. You're a distraction. Well, wait, distraction isn't the right word. But you're a _good _distraction. Does that make sense?" - he paused, but only briefly - "And every time you're away from me, I want you here with me instead. I don't want you anywhere else except for with me. I think - at least I'm pretty sure - that that's love." He breathed deeply after his tirade, his chest heaving like a runner after a race, tired and spent but accomplished.

"I was waiting, I think, for what they say it's like in movies, or in romance novels. It makes it sound so all-encompassing, so unbelievable, so immediate and unforgettable." I couldn't remember the last time I had spoken so eloquently.

"There's no soundtrack to life, Bella." Normally, if someone were to say those words they would be harsh and insincere. Yet when Edward spoke them, so reverently and patiently, it was made clear that he, too, thought of the concept. Contemplated us, together. Contemplated whatever the fuck he was feeling, like I should have contemplated whatever the fuck I was feeling. I knew that I was feeling strange, different, new. I knew I was feeling need and want, but I couldn't seem to match it with what I had come to understand love should feel like.

I wanted Edward. I needed Edward. He was... he was Edward. But was Edward my love? Was he even mine to claim in such an unforgivable way?

"Will you wait for me?" I asked. I had to let him know that I needed time. I could tell by his expression - one of hope, not of hurt - that he understood the sentiment.

He nodded his consent.

And then I nodded my own.

He kissed the tip of my nose and both cheeks, running his lips, a bit chapped from the change in weather, along my soft jaw line. I whimpered and pressed myself into him, all of him flush against my chest as we walked backwards to his bed. I knew that we only had a limited amount of time, and I knew that nothing serious was going to happen between us tonight, but I also knew that the shift in our relationship was palpable. Even though we were young, relatively, I was completely sure that Edward knew the way he felt. I wished I could be his equal, his partner, and part of me knew that I had to heal before that could every fully happen. The other part of me knew that he was with me now, and somehow I had to hold him.

His fingers trailed like sparks of fire underneath my shirt, lifting it higher with each pass. Sucking on the sensitive skin of my neck, I allowed him to raise it to the point where he cupped my breasts, gentle kneading. I pushed myself closer to him. My nerves were ecstatic, and it was intentional. I didn't give myself to him fully. I kept myself in check. I knew when I was going to stop, and when he began to push the lightly padded fabric of my bra away, I clutched my hands to his wrists to still him. It took three forceful pushes to pull his mind back to me, but I saw the clarity flood his eyes when I succeeded. His touch lessened to only a fluttering wind of fingertips, dragging the cotton of my shirt back over the sensitive skin of my stomach.

"I have to get you back home now, yeah?" His voice was muffled by lust, paired with my hair where his lips were pressed. I felt them take one more circuit along my neck before he pulled me to the door of his room. Clearly disheveled, we narrowly escaped the suggestive eyebrows of his parents as we made our way to his car. I smoothed the fabric of my jeans and shirt when we sat down. He turned on the headlights and his silhouette was immediately illuminated with a milky yellow glow.

I had never admired the simple motions of his muscles as I had that night. The way his biceps flexed as he pushed the car into reverse and drive, or the way the tendons in his wrist became more prominent when he turned the steering wheel. He occasionally cast glances to meet my gaze, throwing a wayward smile in my direction. I checked the mirror above my seat only to find a bloody bruise displayed for all to see on my neck. Love bite my ass.

Covering as much of it as possible with my hair, I watched in silence as the rain pelted the windshield when we pulled up the drive.

Edward leaned over the gear shift and pulled up my chin to meet his, his lips only briefly meeting my own. I pouted at the obvious lack-luster.

"Your dad's at the window," he smiled, pressing his finger quickly to the tip of my nose.

"Oh," I sighed, wrinkling my nose in disappointment.

"But I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah."

There was a pause. The pause held a missing phrase. The phrase couldn't be spoken until my true consent.

"Goodnight, Bella," he said instead. I hopped out of the car, dodging the rain like bullets falling from the sky. Charlie opened the door for me, his head tilted slightly upward in thanks for Edward's chauffeuring. I watched Edward peel out of the driveway from my spot on the porch, noticing how, in the darkness, I couldn't see his face anymore.

***

**delay. i was on vacation. aka i suck. i know.  
happy holidaaaaaze**


	22. Chapter 22

**oh hello 2 AM chapter.**

***

Carlisle talked to Charlie.

Thank you, Jesus!

I was officially allowed to enter Edward's house without Charlie's presence, though, of course, Carlisle had to be there. I honestly wondered what made Carlisle do it, especially considering the fact that we had made, like, zero progress in the last two weeks. I felt bad about it, really I did, but it was as if the very idea of Edward on the other side of the door made me so utterly distracted that I couldn't concentrate for the life of me. Maybe that was it. Maybe Carlisle just wanted us to fuck and get it over with so that my hormones wouldn't be running hopeless in my brain anymore.

Or maybe that was just my own wishful thinking.

Edward picked me up on a 'date'. It was so fucking corny, I swear to God. We went to his house, right, I was wearing a dress, right, and it just went on from there. And yes, I showered. Really. Really. Anyway, Edward even hired Esme. I mean, it was cute, but I swear to God, it was so fucking corny. You know, in _Lady and the Tramp_, when the tramp gets all horny so he invites Lady to pasta in some really sketchy alley? Yeah, that was what Edward set up. Except we weren't in a sketchy alley, we were in his dining room.

"Wine, Bella?" he asked me, to which I nodded. He then poured me grape juice into a wine glass. What a let down.

Even though it was really fucking corny, Edward in a tuxedo was absolutely to die for. Shaved and cleaned, he donned the black and white penguin suit for the occasion. He even had on a little bow tie instead of an actual tie, and he kept fidgeting with it throughout the meal. By the end of the dinner it was completely sideways. Oh, and by the way, there is absolutely no attractive way to eat spaghetti. It's impossible. They even sucked at it in _Lady and the Tramp_. Well, I guess they were dogs, but still. It was hard.

After a quick trip to the bathroom after the meal (I had to make sure my teeth weren't orange, egad!), I returned to find the table cleared off, save for a small rectangular box on the checkered tablecloth. Wary, I slowed my walk to the seat, checking for an escape before realizing I absolutely had to face this situation. My heart hammered inside my chest, and I blanched when Edward smiled. He quirked a brow and I averted my eyes, our silent conversation over. When I looked back Edward knelt in front of me, little rectangular box in his hand.

"What are you...?" I trailed off.

"I have to ask you something," he said, eyes wide and sincere. Shit. Shit. Motherfucker. Shit. Balls.

"Hmm?" I squeaked.

Instead of answering, he opened up the box. Slowly, achingly slowly, he opened it. Inside sat a little piece of paper with handwriting so small that I had to pick it up just to read it.

'Prom with me?' it read.

I paused.

"Well?" he asked.

Prom.

The p-word.

I blinked. Three times.

"Yes, okay," I responded. He grinned, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me up into a hug. He put on too much spicy cologne. But still, hell, I couldn't say no. After all, he set up the entire night. _Lady and the Tramp _dinner and all. Esme was our waiter, for God's sake. To keep it short, I was not the prom kind of girl. I would rather live in a nudist colony than suffer through prom. Well, wait, they might have proms at nudist colonies, and, oh, ew. Never mind. But seriously, I'd rather do almost anything than go to prom.

But Edward... he looked so _happy_. So I was going to prom.

Shit. Shit. Motherfucker. Shit. Balls.

Thankfully, it wasn't for at least two more months. Right?

"It'll be great, I promise. I'll get the tickets tomorrow," Edward said after setting me back on my feet. I had never in my life seen a boy so excited about prom. I thought that was just a girl thing. Whatever.

"Are they really selling tickets this early?" I asked, only a little bit distracted by the scent of his aftershave.

"This early? Bella, prom is in two weeks," he laughed. "Have you missed the signs? They're all over every wall." And then he snorted. Bastard.

"Hey," I scowled, slapping him on the arm. "I don't really look out for these kinds of things. Anyway, I can't actually dance."

"Neither can anyone else. We all just touch each other and shuffle awkwardly, which you wouldn't know because you haven't been to a single dance!"

"Liar! I went to homecoming."

Edward cringed.

"That doesn't count. Here, I'll show you how easy it is." He pulled me by my hand to the very last room in his house, the one that overlooked the encroaching forest of the backyard. I remembered almost immediately that this used to be my favorite room. Inside it was only one lamp, and the baby grand piano. Apparently, Esme purchased the piano with the house. The old owners were too lazy to move it, so Carlisle put in an addition to the payment of the house to simply keep it. Esme set Edward up with lessons on it, but after Edward's vehement, wild tantrums following every session, she allowed him to quit. Even still, this room was a favorite of the both of us. We even scratched our names underneath the dusty wooden bench.

Edward sat down on said bench, hands elongated over the keys. I moved to sit next to him, but he stopped me.

"No, I play, you dance."

He then played chopsticks. The fuck?

"Okay, nobody can dance to chopsticks," I protested.

"Yeah, I know, but this is as far as I got in the piano lessons. Besides, no one can actually dance anyway. Basically, this is just practicing to obtain the optimum level of bad dancing."

I stood there. He kept playing.

"Would you dance already?" he finally asked, two fingers bouncing aimlessly atop ivory keys. I sighed and jumped around, flailing my arms like a drowning victim. I then stopped abruptly, rolling my eyes. "Fantastic!" he called, grinning ear to ear. The 'music' stopped and he approached me, all kinds of wicked in his gaze. "I knew you could do it," he said while winding his arms around my waste. My fingers tugged through his hair, resting on the nape of his neck. "You know," he whispered, his breath on my breath, "your dad has pulled the gun on me twice now."

I grimaced.

"I'll work on him. I promise." His lips touched my lips. Gently.

"I don't want to get my head blown off. That's all." His lower lip ran smoothly along my own, pressing briefly against my cheek before following the trail of my jaw to my ear.

"I understand." Melting, I was melting.

The sound of a thousand mashed together keys penetrated the room. It was only after that I realized I was sitting on them, my dress riding higher up my thighs due to Edward's roaming fingers. His lips traced paths down my neck and across my collar bones, and in the brief moments his hands left my legs, I felt them push farther on the two straps keeping the dress aloft. My legs wrapped instinctively around his hips, causing him to pull me closer. His hands, slightly too large for my breasts, pressed desperately into my chest. I responded by pushing myself closer, closer, closer still.

"Oh!"

We froze, locked together like puzzle pieces in a tornado. Esme stood in the doorway, eyes wide and unnervingly innocent.

"I heard the piano playing. I'll leave." She turned on her heel, but the moment was lost.

Cockblocked. By Esme. It was so fucking cliché, it was almost painful.

I pulled the straps of my dress back up over my shoulder blades, awkwardly unhooking my legs from around Edward's waist. He shifted uncomfortably, eyes on the floor as I smoothed the fabric of my dress. I attempted to create as little noise as possible when stepping off of my resting place on the piano. I failed. We stood next to each other, inches apart but miles apart. Our minds wandered; completely separate yet intertwined in content, our breath the only background to the now-silent room.

"I'll take you home," Edward said, following me from the room with his hand placed on my lower back. I didn't have the heart to tell him that his tie was officially on backwards from where it started. He picked up his keys from the counter. The night was cold. The air was cold. We were cold. The silence in the car was stifling, and by the time we reached my house, we were both under its insurmountable pressure. "I would walk you to the door, but, uh, your dad, the gun..."

"I understand." Silence, two minutes.

"But I'll see you soon, right?"

"Right." Silence, two minutes.

"Bella, what's wrong? Jesus Christ." I turned abruptly at Edward's exasperated tone. He palmed his face, dragging a calloused hand over his features, turning him into a depiction of _Scream_.

"What? Nothing," I replied, startled he caught on so quickly. I considered holding my mouth in fear of word vomit.

"Liar. Just tell me, please." Dammit, the pleading eyes.

"I don't know, did I do something wrong? I mean, she came in, and we stopped, and I don't know about prom." The last part slipped out. Cue word vomit. Dammit, why wouldn't someone just give me a barf bag already?

"Wait, what? Do you mean when my mom came in?" he asked, his face pursed in confusion. I nodded, willing him to understand the emotion that weighed most heavily upon me. Feeling unwanted. "Oh, no, no Bella. I just don't know how far I can go with you, is all. I get carried away. That's all." He cupped my face in his hands, emotion spilling forth in a strength and variety I had never seen from him. The facade was broken, and I was completely sure, one hundred percent sure, that in that moment my Edward was back. Wholly and completely. "And as for prom, don't worry about it. I'll take care of you. I promise."

"I'm sorry I'm so fucked up," I breathed. He immediately stiffened.

"Don't talk like that. Just, ugh, just don't. I wouldn't love a fucked up girl, anyway." His voice began loud, confident and certain, until it broke off into a wavering whisper. I gave him the best smile I could manage before initiating a light, brief kiss. He pulled my bottom lip into his mouth, liquid tongue creating fire and sparks. I grasped at his jaw, unwilling to break apart until he forced us. Eventually he moved back, though his hair was thoroughly mussed and his clothes re-wrinkled. "I'll see you tomorrow, Bella."

"Bye, Edward." Right before I moved from the car, he slipped a piece of paper into my hand. It was the small, rectangular piece that read 'prom with me?'. Upon reaching my room, I shredded it up and brushed the specks of paper underneath my bed. There, it joined the note he wrote me, and everything else important that I would allow no one to read. I was sure that one day, upon my unavoidable departure from my childhood home, someone would move the bed, or look beneath it. Yet all they would see would be little scraps of paper, unreadable, illegible, and forever mine. Pieces of my heart.

The next day, after school, Charlie and I had a talk at the kitchen table. It began simply enough, with me making enchiladas out of the ingredients he purchased from the store after work. I didn't mention how domesticated and stifled the action made me feel. Rather, I focused on what I needed to accomplish. Bringing up Edward was easy, but actually conversing about him was virtually uncharted territory. It took a few stilted, emotionless minutes before Charlie began to open up, and I was allowed to persuade him to at least put down the gun when Edward was over. I could tell he understood his faults, and that he knew he was overreacting. He did agree, rather reluctantly, to give us more space. I hadn't earned that trust from him, but I certainly appreciated it.

I appreciated it just as Edward appreciated the news that he would be allowed over my house without getting shot at. Hell, it was a big deal for us. Of course, this was all amidst the absence of James. It was still strange, eating without him. Nutella or apple sauce, my eccentric lunch of peanut butter always felt alone without him, and alien next to Edward's normalcy. It would be three days before I would see him again. Three long, boring, tedious days. But three days, indeed.

It was almost midnight when I found him on my bed that Friday. I had just come home from a session with Carlisle, and then, of course, a brief 'session' with Edward as well. It was all normal, really. Except for the fact that James was sitting on my bed at midnight. The window was partially cracked. I assumed he closed it upon his arrival.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, no longer startled when I found him in strange places. I suppose I found it a tad endearing.

"I was bored, I guess. Little B, I never see you anymore. Why does he keep hogging your time? Come on, you know you have other friends, too." James' face held a peculiar balance between anger and loneliness, and I could tell that he was teetering on the edge. I slipped on my pajamas and sat by his side, weary but ready to placate.

"He's my boyfriend now, James. You would know that if you actually showed up at school every once in awhile." I attempted tender, but performed accusatory.

"Fuck that shit. My mom just left, okay? I don't feel like going to school anymore. Fuck you. Oh, and every time I tried to be your boyfriend, you shut me down. What the fuck is up with the double standard, Little B? Huh?" He was fuming now. Really fuming. I placed my hand protectively over his, deciding then and there to never talk with him about Edward.

"What happened with your mom?" I asked, feeling the familiar sting in my heart that came with mentioning anyone's mother. Still painful, but easiest when ignored.

"She just up and left, okay? I don't give a fuck. I don't care." His hands balled into fists. Tight, tight fists.

"I understand." Because I did. I really, truly did.

"Fuck her, anyway. She was probably cheating on my dad. I don't care. I don't love her anymore," he snarled, but it was like an empty threat.

"Sure you do," I said sadly. "You'll always love her."

At this, James was furious. He stood, paced a few times, and then stared at me. His back was arched like a cat afraid, spikes of fur and flame.

"You know what? Fuck this. I'm out of here." As soon as I could comprehend what he had said, he was out the window. I ran over to it, sticking my head into the freezing cold night. But I was unprepared for what I saw: nothing. My eyes scanned the thick line of trees, melding deeply into the black night. Everything was a meaningless blob, yet I called out. In vain.

"Come back!" I screamed. "I miss you!"

My voice echoed back to me.

***

**hi  
FAQ:  
1. will there be other twilight characters in the story (alice, jasper, rosalie etc)?  
answer: no. um, sorry. but no.  
2. did bella get raped?  
answer: :facepalm: you decide.  
3. how many chapters?  
answer: approx 30, including epilogue. subject to change, though not by much.**

**thanks for reading galz. live long and prosper.**


	23. Chapter 23

***

The week passed much too quickly for my liking. Between school, Edward, and counseling, it felt as if my life was passing me by versus me actually living it. Of course, I think it may have had something to do with the fact that prom was imminent. I wasn't exactly looking forward to it. I wasn't looking forward to it at all. Okay, I was dreading it. A lot. I felt bad about that, too. I mean, Edward was really looking forward to it and, honestly, it was the least I could do.

And I could do it.

Right?

I was sitting on my couch watching Stacy London and Clinton Kelly bitch out a helpless and slightly delusional witch impersonator when my phone rang. My cell phone. That's right. Suck it.

"Hello?" I didn't bother to look at the caller-ID. The only person that ever called was Edward, anyway. I wasn't exactly surprised when he spoke.

"Hey Bella... is your dad home?" What surprised me was the urgency in his voice. He spoke breathlessly and I could almost hear the trepidation, almost see the way his foot tapped in anxiety and his right eye twitched just barely in angst. It took me aback, and I paused a bit before actually answering him.

"No, he's at work. What's up? Do you need something?" There was little to no pause before his answer.

"No, no. I'm going to come over. I mean, is that okay?" he asked, but I could hear his keys jingling and the sound of his shoes against the hardwood floor of his foyer.

"Yeah, that's fine. I'll leave the door unlocked, 'kay?"

"Uh huh." He hung up. I had just gotten to the part when Stacy London told witch lady that her clothes were fugly when Edward arrived at the door. It was all of five minutes. I mean, damn. I knew he drove fast, but _damn_. He knocked even though I left the door open, and finally entered when he realized I was too lazy to move off of the couch. When he turned the corner into the living room his face was carefully smooth. It was a mask I had seen on him once or twice in the time we were together, and it was something I knew to fear.

Because the mask was the calm before the storm.

"What's wrong?" I asked, brows furrowed. He didn't answer. Instead, he sat beside me. Pensive and contemplating and masked, beside me. I laced my fingers with his, in which he responded slightly. The muscles in my fingers felt strained and confused without the correlating pressure, and I clenched tighter to compensate. My fingers slowly turned a ghostly white, yet Edward didn't seem to notice. He stared out the window to the right of the television. The window was huge, nearly floor to ceiling, and it showed only a view of the large tree in my front yard, and the faded beige panels of the house across the street. It wasn't exactly interesting. "Please tell me," I begged, angling myself toward him.

When he still did not respond, my insecurities came alight like an already awaiting flame. It licked at my insides and burnt my skin, boiling around and causing my anxiety to flare up. I swallowed to suppress it.

Because I would die if he left me.

It was a wrong, desperate, and clichéd first love. But it was mine. And because of that, I knew my sanity balanced on a tight wire, a tight wire miles above the ground, thousands and thousands of feet to fall, thousands and thousands of feet. That tight wire was Edward Cullen, and I clung to him in fear of death.

"Did I do something wrong?" I oozed insecure girl, but it caught his attention. His green eyes flashed to my face. Stony green eyes, hard emerald.

"Of course not. It's never you, Bella. It's never you." And even though I could tell he was upset, and even though I could tell it took all of his restraint to stay calm, he still stroked my cheek with aching tenderness.

"Please tell me," I asked softly, careful to stray from my instinctual beg. He wrinkled his nose and draped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his chest. I nuzzled there, cheek to muscle as he absently kissed the top of my head. He turned off the television. It began to rain. Hard, heavy, unstoppable rain.

"I love the sound of the rain," he murmured. His voice bounced against the large window, causing an eerie echo. "It's very soothing. Sometimes I can't go to sleep until it starts, or I can't wake up while it's raining." I mumbled an agreement, pressing myself closer into him, into his heartbeat, into his life. "I don't want you to have to worry about anything else, Bella. I mean, you worry about everything. All the goddamn time, you worry."

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't apologize," he cringed, and I could feel the immediate tensing in his arms and chest. "Don't apologize for shit like that. It's not... wrong. I don't want you to worry, though. I want you to be happy."

"I am happy," I protested, feeling thoroughly content where I was: surrounded by him. I mean, sure, there was the ache when he was away. But that was normal, right? Normal in a relationship. Especially since I was sure how I felt about him. I was sure I loved him and depended on him. I couldn't... say it yet, but I was sure. I worried for the day that he would leave me and I knew I would be unhappy then. But I was happy now. Right?

He hooked a hair behind my ear. My skin tingled. I wanted him to touch me. There and everywhere.

"I want you to be happy," he repeated, sad now. And I was sad for him, wanting to replace his sadness with my own. Wanting to take it off of his shoulders and onto my own. Wanting him to feel infinitely better about himself than I did about myself.

"Is something going on?" I asked, attempting to redirect the subject away from me and back to him. He sighed, resigned. Defeated.

"No. Nothing is going on," he paused, only a slight hesitation. "But that's the problem."

"What do you mean?" I asked, urging him to elaborate.

"At home, Bella. I know you don't... I know you don't see it 'cause you're always in Dad's study, but... it's awful." His hand tightened on my own, finally. I let him collect his thoughts, watching as his eyes flickered to every corner of that large window. The rain continued to splash waterfalls against the glass. "You remember what my parents used to be like, right? Do you remember? From when we were younger?" He was suddenly urgent, eyes searching my own as he awaited my response. I understood the need. It was the need for someone – anyone - to confirm normalcy

"Yes, I remember, they were always very happy. Happy and open." I had never seen Carlisle outside of his study, but on the inside much seemed the same as in my memories. Though it still bothered me that he was my psychiatrist and learning my hidden secrets, he was still Carlisle. But Esme. When I thought about it, she was incredibly distant. Always silent and gaunt, fingers and bones separated by thin layers of skin. Eyes as wide as oceans, constantly staring yet never attentive. "Carlisle seems... much of the same. But Esme... Edward, what happened to Esme?"

Edward then removed his hand, running it through his hair. I pulled it away from the tousled mane in a surprisingly aggressive act, bringing it back to my own. His eyes met mine in something akin to respect.

'Tell me,' I mouthed. He took a breath.

"They wanted another son." And then he stopped. I heard a sniff, but no, no, boys don't cry. "I was 13. They were trying... they tried for years. When she finally got pregnant she was so happy. I've never seen her that happy. Not before or after. And then she had him. He was premature, but only by 2 weeks. It was no big deal. The doctors said it was no big deal. They named him Isaac, after my grandfather. It was only three days after they brought him home that he died."

I gasped at his final sentence. It was a true gasp, too. An immediate reaction. It disturbed me that I had never learned this. It disturbed me that I had talked to Carlisle every day, complaining about my life, when he had lost a son. A baby boy. I was sad. I was sad and disgusted. I was sad and disgusted and mournful.

"Oh Edward, I'm so sorry." Because everyone said they were so sorry. Because everyone was required to be sorry for things they did not cause.

"Dad stayed in his study after that. He still hardly ever comes out, really. And my mom... she isn't even really there anymore. I know it's selfish, too, what I'm saying. But what happened to me and what happened to them wasn't the same thing. I mean, I didn't even know the kid. His name was Isaac... that's all I knew. But they were devastated. I could tell they were devastated. But they never showed it. And I think that's worse. I think that's worse." Edward stopped talking. All the words were emptied out between us. They floated around in an abyss, waiting to be captured and formed into thoughts. Waiting to be analyzed. Waiting to be confronted.

"I'm sorry, Edward," I tried again, truly at a loss. There was nothing I could say to make it better. Nothing I could say to fix him. Nothing I could say to return to my former selfish yet blissful ignorance.

"Don't be," Edward sighed with no force behind it. "It's not your fault. None of it was your fault."

"I can still be sorry. I can still... I don't know, comfort you?" It came out as a question. To my relief he chuckled at my awkwardness, though only slightly. I pulled him into a hug. He resisted at first, though conceded when I ducked my head into the crook of his neck and pulled him towards me. He clutched me tightly, almost like a lifeline. I felt his body shudder, but only once. I allowed the moment to pass in discretion, careful not to let him know I witnessed the break in his manly facade. It passed like lightning, leaving only the remnants of electricity between us. His face relaxed, but it was no longer a mask. It was relief.

"I love you," he said. "I know I'm not really supposed to say that, but -"

"I love you, too," I cut him off. He gaped, mouth open. A bout of thunder crashed outside, awakening him from his trance.

"Say it again," he gasped, his mouth moving closer to mine.

"I love you," I said with no hesitation. Because I did love him. And if I couldn't have him, I would lose everything.

"Once more." He was only centimeters from my skin, taunting and teasing. The couch transformed from a memorial to a marital bed.

"Edward," I protested, leaning forward to meet him halfway. He pulled back.

"Once more, please." Of course, I couldn't deny him anything.

"I love you."

Our lips met in a passionate yet sloppy success, fumbling with newfound love. He grinned against my lips, the small white squares of his teeth peeking out from underneath the pink flesh.

"I was worried you wouldn't say it," he breathed an admittance, hot carbon dioxide mingling with the sharp scent of boy.

"I don't want you to worry." How the tables had turned.

"Mmm," was his only reply, his mouth sucking my bottom lip in. We began to move faster and with more vigor, the hot panels of flesh pressing eagerly against one another. We leaned back on the couch, oblivious to the rain, the TV, and the world. He unbuttoned my shirt, pulling it aside without a second glance. His fingers roamed circuits over the tops of my bra, calloused hands pressing against soft skin. My breasts were swollen over my bra, swells pushing in vane against the fabric constraint. He ran his tongue along the line of my underwire. I groaned, sheathing my fingers into the overgrowth of his hair. Eager, _eager_. I felt his fingers search the back of my bra, looking for the clasp. I saw Edward's brow purse in frustration.

"Front," I managed to gasp, peeling his own shirt back. He grunted and threw it over his head, his hands moving without hesitation to the clasp in the front. He freed them, hardened nipples pressing into his palm as he kneaded.

"So beautiful."

"Edward."

"Bella."

My hands and brain moved without inhibition, trailing the waistline of his jeans. Truthfully, I had no idea what I was doing. Especially when he unbuttoned his pants and my hand slipped to the outside of his boxers. His cock strained against the thin fabric. I allowed myself only one second to worry before I gripped it, pausing when I realized that was as far as I ever learned. Yet Edward still cried out, burying his face in my neck.

"Bella," he grunted. "Inside the boxers. Please, please? I want to feel you." I nodded and pushed my hand underneath the elastic. I had no idea what he looked like, I only knew what I could feel. And it was big, thanks. But really, that wasn't the first thing I thought of. The first thing I thought of was how strange it really was, touching each other beneath our clothes. The instinctive part overrode the logical side of my brain, pressing me forward. But I knew it was strange. The hair and the skin and the difference between what I was used to. Edward somehow sensed my confusion, moving his hand to wrap it around my own.

Up and down, he dragged my fingers. Seeping wetness slid through them at the tip. He stared at me as we stroked, his lips parted with heady breath and his eyes half-lidded. His cheeks were flushed in a way I had never seen, curiously close to blending with the red bits of his hair, yet making him look all the more ethereal in red, green, and white. His eyes widened and he pulled my hand out, replacing it completely with his own. With his other hand he scooted me back on his thighs, towards his knees. I complied with his request and shifted. He lifted his pelvis and shoved his pants and boxers down lower on his hips. He continued to stroke. His eyes then rolled back in his head, body convulsing and shivering as he came. I stroked his face and neck, marveling.

He calmed eventually, delicate kisses peppering my lips and neck in gratitude.

I then had a thought.

"Would it be better if I did it with my mouth?"

***

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**by the way, i'm 18 now, so... i can write lemons. legally. does that make you happy? :)**


	24. Chapter 24

***

/

"Would it be better if I did it with my mouth?"

/

"Bella," Edward grumbled, surprisingly hostile. It was odd, too, because he just sat there with his pants off. On my couch. Like seriously, his bare ass was totally on my couch cushions. I imagined Charlie sitting in the same spot watching the game later tonight. It was pretty repulsive, but also amusing at the same time.

"It wouldn't be better?" I kept casting glances at his deflated dick like a weirdo. He eventually noticed and awkwardly pulled his pants up, arms and legs flailing. To give him some credit, it really was impossible to gracefully put on pants while seated. Once he had righted himself, he draped an arm around my shoulder. I leaned into his chest, mirroring the more solemn image we were in only moments before our distractions.

"Yes it would be better," he laughed. "For me, not for you." He pressed his finger to the tip of my nose and relaxed into the back of the couch, lifting his worn shoes on top of the coffee table. He yawned. "So did you buy a dress yet, Bella?" he suddenly asked, completely catching me off-guard, of course.

"A what?"

"A dress, Bella. Come on. For Prom? It's in like a week. Okay, it's in six days. Do you want me to take you? To buy one?" He began rambling, and in all honesty, he sounded like a fucking girl. I raised my eyebrow at him, and, thankfully, he promptly shut up. I placed one finger over his lips and then kissed him soundly, promising him through touch that I would figure something out. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully.

He sighed in response, pressing his cheek against my own. Scratchy hair had grown in from his last shave, and I felt it scrape against my skin. He had taken to not shaving. Apparently, he wanted to appear manlier, and the light, brief hair that grew on his upper lip and jawbone made him seem so. Honestly, he looked better without the hair. He was still too small to pull off facial hair, too immature, too juvenile. It made him look like a fraud, posing as an older man with a younger soul.

The doorbell rang. I moved to get up.

"Where are you going?" he protested, tightening his grasp around my waist and pressing his nose into my cheekbone. The prickly hair on his jaw line continued to bother the fuck out of me.

"Doorbell. Duh." I reluctantly moved myself away from him, immediately feeling the absence of his body against mine. He sighed again, lounging on the couch with one forearm thrown haphazardly over a creased, closed gaze. Shrugging, I walked to the front door, opening it to a grinning yet thoroughly drenched James. I rolled my eyes and pulled open the door, eager to allow him inside after our last meeting. It seemed as if he had let bygones be bygones, and I wasn't about to interfere with his abrupt mood swings (especially if they turned in my favor). I grinned when he walked past me, then noticed the suspiciously shaped thin plastic bag he held against his hip. "What's that?" I asked.

"Hello to you too, Little B," he snorted, making quite the ruckus as he moved from the door to the kitchen table. He left puddle after puddle in his wake, hazardous spots of water that I was sure to trip on. By some small miracle, I made it to the kitchen without falling flat on my ass. He spread the bag out on the table. It looked like a garbage bag, but long and thin, with one curved edge and three straight ones. A black zipper slid vertically down the middle.

Oh, shit.

"Is that a tux?" I all-but screamed.

"Duh, B. It's for prom." He unzipped it with a flourish. A clean, black tuxedo slid out, unmarred and clean pressed. I gaped, wordless.

"Um, James… um, I'm going with Edward."

He glared at me.

I thought he was going to kill me.

I thought he was going to kill me.

"You have such a big fucking ego, little B. Do you know that? What the fuck?!. Why would you even think I wanted to go with you, huh?" His eyes were piercing, jagged edges of daggers, aimed right at me. I noticed that his former crew cut had grown out. The sandy brown hair fell in his eyes, disrupting the gaze just enough for me to gather my bearings. He was zipping up the tuxedo before I could speak, and was almost out the door before I stopped him with my arm. He flexed, the muscle in his forearm pulsing against my palm.

"I didn't mean it like that. It's… that's not what I meant. I really like the tux. You picked out a good one, really. So, so you're going to be at prom now, right?" I held my breath in fear; fear that he would leave me. Another person I had to fear. He paused, frozen for only a moment. He turned and swiveled, eyes no longer daggers, but slanted and mischievous. Plotting.

"No, me and my girl, we're going out to dinner and then back to my place. To, you know. We're so over prom."

I blinked.

"So you're not going to be there? At all?" My voice broke two octaves. For some reason, I was completely sure that James would be there, even though I had never really asked. He was a constant presence and a constant buffer, and I assumed (stupidly, as I was obviously doing as of late) that he would be there for me. And it was so incredibly selfish, I could have puked.

"Of course. I mean, I hope you have a great time. Really."

"Well, I hope you have a great time. Really." He was mocking me.

"James, seriously," I pleaded, but it came out as more of a whine.

"Seriously... what?" he asked, all snide and sneer. "Seriously you've ditched me? Seriously you're not even my friend anymore? Seriously you have a completely separate life from me? Seriously I'm the one who saved you and you let me the fuck _go_ like last week's trash?"

I held my breath, completely at a loss for words.

"So, Little B. Seriously what?"

"It wasn't like that."

"It wasn't like that for you, maybe."

"It wasn't supposed to be like that."

"Well it was."

"I'm sorry."

"Have a good time."

After he left, the room was stale with expelled breath. Everything was the way it had always looked – imbalanced chair, humming refrigerator, cheap mosaic of a rooster on the wall above the sink. Yet, they all seemed to mock me. The chair rocked in his absence. The refrigerator hummed louder in his absence. And the rooster? The rooster laughed at me in his absence. I sat down in the broken chair, feeling the uneven legs wobble beneath me. They clattered absently on the linoleum, cluttering background noise to my thoughts. I lost myself for a moment, head in hands on table on floor. Edward found me rocking, the tap of the chair on the floor synchronized with my heart beat.

"Bella, what happened?" he exclaimed, alarmed at my sudden change in demeanor. He sat beside me on the stable chair, fingers trying to pry my own from my face.

I shook my head.

"Bella, please tell me what happened."

I shook my head again.

"I can call Carlisle." He pulled my hands from my face, tucking them in his lap. I turned away.

"I don't need Carlisle."

"Then talk to me," he begged. "And I won't call him." He held my hands tightly in his own – tight enough so that I could feel his pulse hammering along his wrist. "Please," he said, one more time. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to my own. I couldn't feel them.

"James isn't going to be at prom," I finally admitted, telling him the lesser part of what happened while he was missing-in-action in the living room. A brief smile lit his face, and then died as quickly as passing wind.

"I think that's a good thing," he said. Confident, sure.

"Why?" I snapped, unintentionally vile.

"Because, Bella. He's not a good person. Every time James is here you get mad or sad or just plain weird, okay? So I'm obviously not going to like him if you're not normal Bella when he's here. So I don't like him around, obviously."

"Well I like him around," I persisted, even though I wasn't sure if that was true. He pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated and solemn. He then nodded his head, figuring it would be better to let go of the subject before either of them got too angry at the other. Pulling me into his chest, he pressed his nose into my hair. Steady streams of warm air penetrated my hair, leaking down my neck like hot, soothing water.

"If you like him around, then fine, I won't fight it anymore. I promise."

"Thank you." I tightened my arms around his neck, allowing him to get closer than I had ever let him get before. The fact that he allowed James around, that final give, made it seem as though he finally understood me. He finally understood what I felt, or what I wanted to feel. I was eternally grateful, yet at the same time feeling more dependent on having Edward with me.

"It'll be okay," Edward spoke into my hair a whispering, twirling lie.

*

After an abnormally long session with Carlisle, I was permitted to stay at the Cullen's house for a few hours until Charlie picked me up after work. Edward was at some person's house working on a physics project (a class I wasn't taking), so I tagged along with Esme while she baked rolls for their dinner. It was so utterly domestic; I was almost in awe of it.

"So Bella," she spoke suddenly. "Edward is very excited about this weekend."

"This weekend?" I asked absently, running my fingernail through the gritty space between the ceramic tiles of the counter.

"Prom, right dear?"

"Oh, yes. Right."

She began to knead the dough, rolling it and pushing it and melding it. The muscles and tendons in her arms flexed, and one hair escaped the bun on top of her head and brushed her eyelids. She added more flour to the dough, the excess coming up in white puffs like hazy, foggy clouds.

"Do you have a dress then?" she asked casually.

"Oh, no. Well, I have one but it's not really a prom dress, I guess."

She paused.

"Well, I have one for you." I looked up at her. She had yet to raise her eyes. Acting blasé seemed to be her forte. "It's from when I was your age. I surely wouldn't mind if you borrowed it. I don't have a little girl to give it to, anyway." At the end, her voice turned wistful.

And then I paused.

"I would like that." _Edward would like that_.

The dress was an antique. Apparently (Esme didn't tell me this until much, much later) it was also her grandmother's bridesmaid's dress. Her grandmother never did have a wedding of her own, and when her only daughter needed a dress, she passed on her bridesmaid's dress. Esme had been infuriated by the extreme lack of luxury, and only found the beauty in the dress after her mother had died. In her offer to let me use it, she was putting me on a platform eerily similar to that of her family.

It was a light blue color, and it was fringed in waves of white. The hemline was short – shorter because Esme hemmed the long drape when she used it – and fell just past my knees. That night, I tried it on only once. I watched the way the fabric twirled when I spun only once. I let myself revel in the pure fabric only once. And then I put it in my closet near the back, covering it with my pants and sweatshirts, letting myself forget about the beautiful article until I was forced to wear it.

The next morning Charlie left to go fishing. He locked all of the windows and doors. He kissed my forehead in goodbye. He double-checked that his cell phone number was still gathering dust on the fridge. He allowed himself to leave with only two glances over his shoulder back to the house. He wouldn't be back until late that night.

Edward stopped by, no doubt because he knew Charlie would be gone. I was still sleeping when he arrived, but awoke quickly to the sound of his fist pounding against the door. He was thoroughly drenched when I let him inside. He dripped on the kitchen floor, draping his rain jacket over the back of a chair.

We kissed until I couldn't breathe.

He ran his fingers under the soft cotton of the old shirt I wore for pajamas.

I allowed him to take it off.

We walked to my bedroom.

His lips were swollen, his eyes alight in excitement.

"I don't want to get too carried away," he said.

I took off his shirt, running fingertips over hardened muscles.

I reveled in the sparks, the shocking sparks that took place.

He hovered over me.

My bare back lay on the cotton comforter.

His lips ran from my own, to my chin, to my neck, to my breast, to my stomach…

Fingers perused the waist band of my shorts.

Shortly thereafter, they were pulled off.

He groaned into my neck.

I whimpered when his chest pushed into my own.

I settled between his jean-clad legs.

He pulled them off, stuck on his socks, stuck on his feet, thrown to the floor.

"I don't want to get too carried away," he said again.

I touched him everywhere I could find.

He touched me everywhere he could find.

I pulled his boxers down.

He pulled my underwear down.

"You are so beautiful," he said.

He watched me with green eyes.

I felt him near me. I felt him around me. I felt him waiting. I felt the anticipation. I felt the anxiety. I felt the fear. I felt...

"Stop!" I screamed.

***

**Thanks to revrag for the betaing…**

**And stuff.**

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**Please keep Haiti in your thoughts**


	25. Chapter 25

***

"I'm sorry." His eyes, black with lust, black with want, black with need, backed away from me.

He paused, measuring his restraint. His muscles flexed inside their sheaths as I gathered a blanket tightly around my body. I felt obscenely naked and bare, even underneath a heavy woolen comforter. Edward was naked. I watched him stand there, all naked and primal and animalistic. He really did look like an animal, as most humans did when they were unclothed. All dignity was gone with nothing to spare except living skin and bone and organ. I saw perspiration cling to his chest hairs as his eyes diverted to the floor. He was hard, really, but I couldn't even look at it without looking away as if it were some sort of illegal drug.

"I'm sorry," he said again, backing into my dresser. He knocked over the porcelain cat I received from my grandparents when I was six. It rolled but it didn't break.

He pulled on his pants.

I didn't watch.

His shirt.

I didn't watch.

And left.

I didn't watch.

*

There were three seasons in high school. The seasons were disproportional, but they were distinct and absolute seasons. The first season (and the longest) was pre-Prom. It began in June, two months prior to the actual start of school. It gradually gained momentum as the date drew nearer. People began to panic, began to plan, began to party. The imminent day was close to that of a death sentence, with the amount of emotion that it withdrew from the female population. Every day that passed without that question, that _goddamn _question, made them fall asleep to tears, made them wish, made them dream. They would wonder, on those last days before Prom, those horrific nights, those horrible nights, why in the hell prom existed. They would wonder if it was simply a rite of passage turned ugly, or if it was secretly a humiliation tactic bent on giving college-bound students MIPs and those not so lucky unplanned pregnancies.

They would wonder how in the _hell _society would condone something such as prom. Because, did anything good ever come out of prom? Was anyone ever happy with prom? Was that such a thing, such a strange concept, that it couldn't actually occur? Well, perhaps, but it was surely the minority. The majority of the students couldn't bear show their face in school the next day. They couldn't bear face the fact that they slept with another guy, passed out in a punch bowl, was pulled over by the local cop, lost their scholarship, ripped their dress, was locked in the bathroom, threw up in their hair, tripped and fell on their face, publicly called the administration chaperones "big fat fuck faces that can suck hairy cock."

Yeah, that happened.

Sophomore year.

Lacy Sanders.

She wasn't even supposed to go to prom that year—was asked by a senior who thought she'd be an easy lay. He would've been right, if she hadn't been expelled before the night ended. She ended up in an all-girls boarding school in Maryland. No one's heard of her since.

Of course, the second season, after pre-Prom, would certainly be Prom Night.

Were there words for prom night? No, not really. The only words that were spoken were said the next day, into a toilet, with a throbbing headache.

And of course, the third season: post-prom. Post-prom encompassed all time from the absolutely hideous day after, until June when the pre-prom season officially started. Post-prom was a dying off of all the gossip. Except, of course, to the people whom the gossip is about. They would live with it forever. And then the cycle repeated. Over and over and over again, for different generations of desperate girls, clueless boys, and drunken party music. A day with the best intentions, only to turn into the worst.

And, of course, I found myself in the perilous period of pre-prom. Only one day before the actual prom night. Edward played with the blanket at my feet, his fingers entwining with the fringes on the end, the little tassels falling around and over his skin. He was very distant lately, his thoughts on other things, I assumed. I didn't press him on it, for I was sure I would hate it if the roles were reversed. I stood up and his eyes met mine with a bewildered blink.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To brush my teeth," I stated slowly, like talking to a child. His brow furrowed and he moved his attention back to the blanket that was apparently infinitely more important than me. I held back a scoff.

I brushed my teeth so hard that there was more blood than toothpaste in the sink afterward.

Edward hadn't moved when I returned, so I pulled myself under the covers of my bed and sunk into it, blanket pressing into my chin. His eyes met mine, suddenly ablaze with determination.

"If you don't want to go, then we don't have to go."

"What?" I asked, confused.

"To prom. If you don't want to go to prom, Bella, we don't have to go."

"Shut up."

"Bella."

"Shut up."

"Really."

"No, you want to go. I'm being a baby by not going. There are people with real issues going on in their lives, you know? This is just a stupid prom. I can handle it." _I think_.

"Ugh, Bella, have you been watching the Health Channel again or some shit?" _Damnit_.

"Not that much."

"I know that gets you paranoid." He rolled his eyes, fingers twisting ever-aimlessly in the blanket.

"Not paranoid."

"Nervous. Feeling ungrateful. Guilty. Whatever, Bella, I don't know. But don't feel bad about this just because you watched some shit on the Health Channel."

"That's not why I want to go."

"Oh really, why is it then?" he chuckled, preparing for my lie.

"Because I know it will make you happy," I answered honestly, a disturbing moment of clarity in my otherwise hopelessly wordless life. He met my eyes again, green orbs flickering back and forth as they measured my sincerity. Apparently he found no fault, for he leaned in close and brushed his lips gently against mine. Since the day he left without a word he had been overly cautious, and I found myself eager for the inhibitors that came hand in hand with prom. Not that I knew I was ready, but I knew what I wanted. It was probably a stupid decision. It was probably dumb and childish and not thought through well enough, but I knew what I wanted.

I wanted Edward.

And if he wanted me, I would suppress the fear in order to give him what he wanted, too.

My alarm sounded.

It was 9:00.

Edward wasn't allowed in my room after 9:00.

"I'll see you tomorrow then," he smiled.

"Tomorrow then."

I slept dreamlessly.

And then I was awoken far too soon.

"Bella, Edward's here."Charlie was knocking, no, Charlie was pounding on my door. I groaned and stuffed a pillow over my head, unwilling to face the day. I grumbled at my own reluctance, and was ashamed by my own strength of will. I would do what I could to make Edward happy, to make Edward stay. I would do what I had to do because I loved him. Because I depended on him completely. Because he wanted prom and he wanted sex and I would give it to him so that he would stay.

"Did you seriously sleep 'til one?" Edward smirked, hanging haphazardly in the doorway like some model that shouldn't be outside my room. I stuck my tongue out at him and buried myself beneath the covers. I shrieked when I felt a heavy body land on me, though feeling Edward above and outside of the blankets did not scare me as it once would have. He grinned when I surfaced and immediately backed off, hovering on the edge of my bed.

"Where's your suit or something?

"It's one o'clock, Bella," he laughed, fingers twirling in the goddamn blanket.

"What is your deal with that blanket?" I finally scoffed. He looked up with wide eyes, evidently surprised and taken off-guard by my confrontation.

"What? It's soft!"

An awkward pause.

"You are such a girl, like seriously."

He blinked.

"It's soft," he grumbled again, clearing his throat in a way that was supposed to make him somewhat manly. I laughed and hopped in the shower, moving as quickly as possible, still uncomfortable with the small space. But I did have to hand it to Carlisle; he really helped a lot. From the time that I started with him until then, there was a distinct, obvious improvement. It was in both my self-esteem and my reactions towards the nearness of other people.

But I was still weird.

But I was still different.

But I was still wrong.

And I needed Edward more than ever.

We ate dinner at an Italian restaurant. It sucked because I couldn't eat spaghetti. Again. Edward was very sweet, though. He even tipped the person who sat us down, and paid for both of our meals. He looked sexy, too, all done up in a suit like he was. The tips of his hair brushed the collar on the suit, his forehead, and his ears. I smiled when he accidentally blew out the candle on the table during one of his dramatic sighs. His cheeks blushed all the way to his ears, lighting up the tips of them like fire.

"You wanna go?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

It was thirty minutes after the dance was scheduled to start. No one ever arrived on the start time, for no one was dancing and it basically sucked. At least this is what Edward informed me of when I asked why we were leaving so late for dinner. He drove me in his Volvo, no party bus, no limo. It was sweet, really, with the windows partially cracked and the dewy rain leaking in. I ran my fingers through my hair in anxiety, an uncharacteristically girlie move.

"You look beautiful," Edward said softly, suddenly. His eyes met mine briefly. I blushed and smiled, head ducking down to my lap.

The walk from the parking lot was amusing. Prom was at the school, for the city was much too small to house such a small dance in a more luxurious venue. It felt almost like we were walking to school for any other day, except for the fact that I couldn't walk in my shoes and it was rather dark outside. Edward stayed close by my side, and I could tell by his sweaty hand that he, too, was a bit nervous about tonight's situation.

It would be a lie if I were to say that everyone stopped and looked at us when we entered the gym. It would be a lie to say that there was suddenly a magical spotlight on my head, and that everyone paused and held their breath. It would be a lie to say that the music stopped, and that the only sound that could be heard was that of my rapidly beating heart. All of those things were a lie, for when Edward and I entered the crowded, sweaty gym all that greeted us were grinding partners and shiny dresses, unbuttoned tuxes and half-lidded eyes, thumping music and spiked punch. We stayed near the back, Edward clearly apprehensive about joining our comrades on the dance floor, especially with the dancing. It would also be a lie to say I didn't want to join them. I was horny, damnit.

"Do you want to dance?" he finally scream-whispered into my ear.

I nodded fervently. Finally.

I didn't face him, but I felt him.

His hands gripped my hips and my waist, pulling me back against him so that I could feel him completely and totally around me. His chin rested on my shoulder, hot breath on my ear, down my neck.

We didn't receive a wide birth. No one cared. No one gave a fuck. This was all an excuse – an excuse to be publicly sexual whenever society allowed it.

The last song was a slow song. People ate each other's faces (at least, that's what it looked like).

There was no gazebo with lights. There were no couples that discreetly left us in private. There was just the last song, and Edward's sweaty forehead, and the fact that it was pressed against my own.

"Did you like it?" Edward asked as we waited on line to leave the parking lot.

"Yeah. Yeah, I did."

Edward grinned a megawatt.

"I knew you'd like it."

We were silent for a few moments. I watched as people entered their cars, dresses tripping on shoes and feet fumbling on pavement.

"So, can we go back to your house?"

His eyes widened, but for only a moment. He knew what that mean. Every teenage boy knew what that meant.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Really?"

"I said yeah."

"Okay."

Edward called Charlie and lied straight up to him. Told him that I had fallen asleep on the way back; therefore, he was allowing me to sleep in their guest room so that I could return the dress. It was a pretty well-crafted lie, especially given the fact that he came up with it on the spot. I grinned, tangling my fingers with his as we sped down the highway. Carlisle and Esme were asleep down the hall. That was what Edward said, that they were asleep. I didn't dare doubt him.

His fingers traced the outline of my dress, Esme's dress, Esme's mother's dress, the fringe falling through his fingers. I understood. His lips replaced where his fingers once were, warm, soft flesh touching warm, soft flesh. I couldn't help the sounds I was making – the whimpers and the moans. I didn't allow myself to think any farther than the moment. That helped the fear, really, it did. It allowed me to be. It allowed me to know myself only as I was feeling at that very second. It allowed me to forget about the future, forget about the repercussions.

"Bella."

"Edward, I love you."

"Yes."

"I love you."

"Yes."

"I love you, too."

With only one zipper the dress fell the floor, leaving me relatively bare before him. His eyes outlined my skin like burning torches, flames zipping in their wake. I unbuttoned his shirt until I got too frustrated, and he did it himself. His muscles, lean and sinewy, flexed beneath my fingers. I watched the ripple, turn, transform. He let out a breath when he stepped out of his pants.

We paused.

It was a waiting game.

I pulled off my tights; he pulled off his socks.

I undid the clasp behind my bra, letting it fall to the floor; he pulled his undershirt over his head.

I stripped, stood up, blushed; he followed, waited, anxious.

"You're beautiful," I finally said, because it was necessary, because it was true. He let out a sigh of relief, of exultation, and pulled me towards him. He laid me back on his bed, dark blue comforter in a darker room. I could hardly see his outline, only breathes and whispers of skin in the blue moonlight shining through his partially open window.

It didn't hurt.

I didn't think it would hurt.

It only hurt once, it only hurt once.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and focused on the way he trembled, breathed, cried out. His brow furrowed and his teeth clamped down on his lower lip in restraint. I didn't want him to hold back. I wanted to please him, and I wanted him to need me. I wasn't going to come. I knew I wasn't going to come. He was beautiful and perfect and glorious and mine, but I wasn't going to come. But he was. And there was no point in waiting.

"Come with me."

I lied.

He listened.

"I love you," he whispered, naked flesh caressing naked flesh. "Truly."

***

**Revrag be the beta. I be thankin her for it**

**MIP = minor in possession (of alcohol) … revrag**

**RECOMMENDATION OF LE FICTION:  
EXPECTATIONS AND OTHER MOVING PIECES BY CHROMETURTLE  
(yeah, I know, ya'll are already reading it. Well I'm recc'ing it anyway, cause it's awesome. So go read mk? K)**

**Ehmmmm, all of ya'll thought I was going to go all Carrie on your ass**

**I didn't, but…**

**There's always a calm before the storm.**


	26. Chapter 26

***

Edward drove me home the following morning. The air in his Volvo was stale; it didn't rain the previous night. The tires slid beneath us without the familiar sound of excess water, leaving it eerily quiet inside the car. His fingers drummed the steering wheel, the repetitive thrum dulling my senses and leaving us with the white noise we both needed. The sun shone through the windshield, aggressive against tired eyes. I felt hung over, though I wasn't. Edward looked hung over, though he wasn't. Even still, his eyes were laced with purple-black circles, and the pallor in his cheeks was whitewashed and pale.

He pulled up to my house and turned towards me, sweet words of thanks bubbling from his lips.

"I had a really great time," he said. I scowled, sure that that was supposed to be my line, not his.

"Yeah," was all I could offer in response. He paused, brow furrowed.

"Sorry, did you not have a good time or something?" It was then that I saw his insecurities, and excessive need for enforcement in everything that he said or did.

"No, I did. Really."

He smiled in relief.

"Good."

Esme's dress was wrinkled beyond repair due to the dance and to what happened afterward. I shuddered, ashamed by the fact that I couldn't even admit to my own mind what it is that had happened. Eager to be distracted from my still obvious faults, I traced my fingers over the deep, almost etched in wrinkles. The dress bunched around my waist, gathered there, revealing bare skin with leg hair that was beginning to grow in from early yesterday morning, which was the last time I shaved. Edward turned off the ignition and walked around to open my door.

I let him.

He dipped down and his lips brushed my own. They were chapped, and cracking slightly.

"I love you," he murmured.

"I love you," I murmured.

He walked me to the door, paused, kissed my cheek.

Charlie wasn't home. He was on duty. He was on duty for hours and hours and hours.

I used said hours and hours and hours to listen to the extremely dull voices of National Public Radio in a feeble attempt to lull myself to sleep. I didn't get hardly any sleep the night before; I spent the night reveling in a naked Edward. I felt his lines, muscles, curves, bones, skin. He slept deeply, soundly. Didn't hardly flinch, didn't hardly shiver, didn't hardly move. I felt sad for him; sad for his perfection, his beauty, his misunderstandings. I felt sad for myself, too. Because I knew that eventually I would have to lose him, because I was incapable of holding onto anything that I loved.

"I'll call you later, 'k?"

"'K."

He stopped for a moment, prepared to say something that he apparently decided against. I waited politely, and when he finally turned to leave I entered my house. I immediately fell asleep on the couch in Esme's dress. Every time I turned in my sleep the fabric swam around me, enveloping me in the blue, drowning me in the blue. When I woke up, the house was dark, and a light blanket was draped over me. I moved from the couch, rubbing tired eyes with fists and seeing the remnants of mascara create bruised smudges on my hands.

I trudged to bed and slept.

I didn't bother with school the next day, feeling too tired to go. I didn't even realize that I missed it until Edward called after the day ended, waking me up and asking me why I didn't show. I gave him some lame excuse, at which point he told me he'd call later about something I wasn't really listening to.

Whatever.

I finally changed out of the dress, leaving it in a crumpled heap on the bathroom floor as I showered. It was interesting, how beautiful I thought the garment was, until it looked like a rejected piece of fabric on the tile. I left it there, only to have my dad find it later, for him to cry into the fabric, and for him to hang it up in my closet, not realizing that I had borrowed it from Esme.

I didn't stay under the water for too long.

Charlie sat across from me, a cup of coffee clutched between his fingers.

The coffee cup read "World's Best Dad".

"I've got the night shift," he said, eyes tired and heavy.

"After your day shift?"

"We're short-staffed."

He didn't like staying home with me. That was his reason for constantly being at work. I brought him down, down, down, and he didn't know how to help—he didn't know what to do. I could tell, just by the lines in his forehead, the creases beneath his eyes, that he was tired of failing me, tired of trying and failing. So he stopped trying.

"Okay, well, um, okay."

He sighed, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes clenched, forehead furrowed.

"I'll be back soon. Really."

"I know. Really."

It wouldn't be until Charlie reached his office that he would realize he left his gun on the kitchen table.

Yeah.

I got a call from Edward two hours later, something about something I didn't care about. He was talking about homework (I picked up on it about five minutes in), going on and on about a class I missed. I figured he assumed he was helping me out, telling me about the class that I missed, trying to save my probably unsalvageable grade. I picked up the phone and brought it into the living room, turning on the TV only to see Drew Barrymore advertising Cover Girl with her stroke-victim smile.

"Bella, you there?" he asked; obviously I wasn't paying attention.

"Yeah, right, sure."

"So do you want me to come drop off the homework?"

"Oh, no, really, that's okay."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, well, let me at least tell you what it is. I mean, you're going to have to do it eventually, right?"

"Right," I lied, suddenly feeling hungry. I moved to the kitchen, warily eyeing the gun that Charlie left on the table. I debated calling him, but then decided that it would take too much effort, and I was already on the phone with Edward.

Edward shuffled around on the other end of the line. I didn't bother listening; instead I pushed magnets around the surface of the refrigerator with my fingertips. There were no pictures underneath the magnets; just a barren, vacant refrigerator.

"Okay, I've got the homework," Edward said. I was about to respond when a knock sounded at the door.

That was the last thing I remembered until I came to.

Screaming.

"Why are you screaming?" James cried. I blinked, gathering my bearings. I sat on the couch, the phone beside me. It blared the tone that signaled the recipient had long-since hung up, and I hadn't ended the call myself. Edward hung up on me? Wait, what?

"Why are you here? Where did you come from?"

"I knocked on the door and you like passed out or some shit, Jesus Christ!"

"What?"

"What do you mean, what?"

I stared at James. Somehow, I was just now truly registering what he was, who he was, what he looked like. He was ugly; eyes disproportionate to nose disproportionate to ears. Hair too long and shaggy, making him look like a confused sheepdog. Clothes mismatched and arms too gangly, legs too gangly. He stared at me like I was a psychopath, disproportionate eyes even more disproportionate due to their increased size, dark brown green gold blue purple red eyes.

"I was in the kitchen."

"You were in here, there is where you were."

"I don't understand."

"There's nothing to understand!" he shrieked.

I looked out the window. Nothing was abnormal; the sky was cloudy, the lawn green, the tree swaying slightly in the wind, the street silent, the neighbors indoors. I looked to the kitchen. The gun sat, waiting, on the kitchen table. Yeah.

I stood up and he took a step towards me.

"Don't touch me," I warned. And, oh, that set him off. His eyes, multi-colored, multi-faceted, turned only to the solid color of a red demon, completely clear of his hair. He took another step toward me, backing me into the wall. I felt the cold, hard, solidity of the wall behind me. Nowhere to go, nowhere to turn to.

"That's what it always is with you, isn't it? Don't touch me; don't touch me, wah wah wah, what a baby." His lip had a snarl. I never noticed it before. It pulled up in one corner, only one, not the other. It showed his bloody red gums disproportionate to yellow teeth disproportionate to jaw size. No longer was this the James that I knew, no, this was someone completely different. Someone I didn't understand, someone who was quickly spiraling out of control, quickly taking me over.

"Back off," I said with no conviction.

"That's all I ever do with you, Little B. I back off. Now there's nowhere to back off to, is there?"

He pushed me into the wall, shoulder bone reverberating on the hardness. His touch was cold, fingers like ice.

"Don't touch me," I said again, speaking to his fingers, fingers cold as death.

"I'm not touching you."

It felt like the world was caving in on top of me, strangling me, killing me.

"You _are _touching me," I cried. I felt the pressure, I felt the bruises, I felt the marks, I felt the burns, I felt his fingers on my skin, touching me and violating me even though I tried, I _tried, _to get him to stop. But he wouldn't stop. He wouldn't stop. He couldn't stop because he wasn't actually touching me. His hands were at his sides, balled into fists, away from my skin.

But I felt him there, on top of me, in me.

"Please stop! Just stop!"

"Little B, I'm _not _touching you." But he didn't take a step back. Instead, he took a step forward. I could feel him surrounding me, his presence surrounding me, and I knew right then that I had lost everything.

"Please." I sunk down to the floor, clutching my hair, imagining myself in a place that I wasn't. Yet, I didn't imagine that I was with anyone. I imagined that I was alone; completely alone. No one was with me and it was peaceful. There was no risk, no imminent downfall. It was just me, and I could handle it because I was completely alone, and it was beautiful.

And then I was pulled back into the darkness.

I imagined that he hit me, punched me, pushed me. I didn't know who it was, but I knew there were hands, so many hands all over me and I couldn't stop them. It was as if my body wasn't mine anymore, but it was anyone else's who wanted something from it. I was completely and utterly detached, looking down on myself being bruised and battered, my skin marked and marred.

"But Little B, I love you."

And he didn't sound so much like James anymore, but like someone I used to know; someone from a distant memory that I couldn't quite place.

"Know that I will always love you, no matter where I am."

And it didn't make sense, what he was saying. It didn't make sense because it wasn't true.

And then I felt warm hands on me.

And then I felt them rejuvenate me.

And then I heard a different voice, a subtle voice, growing louder and louder the harder I listened.

"Bella, Bella. Come on, come on; don't do this to me. Please, please, don't do this to me."

I didn't understand. I couldn't remember doing anything. I didn't know what was going on, what was real and what was not. All of these things I couldn't determine.

"Bella please, please, please." And then the voice grew quieter. "Yes, there's been an emergency. No, I can't… no I've _tried_. Why aren't you listening to me? Yes, yes, I need help here _now. _Okay. Okay. Okay."

I opened my eyes but there was only darkness. I tried to see but I couldn't. It was like being in a thick forest with walls of trees. The canopies over my head let in no light, but I knew that there was sun above them. I just had to reach the sun, and then there would be light, and then I would be able to see. But I couldn't quite reach it.

"Bella, Bella, please just wake up. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do."

I couldn't even hear him anymore.

He was drifting away from me.

No, he wasn't the one drifting.

I was the one drifting, leaving him behind.

*

I woke up on my couch.

My neck was sore from lying in the same position for too long, and my teeth felt fuzzy and gross. I squinted at the harsh light above my head, involuntarily turning my head to the side and thus making my neck hurt. A drooling mouth wet the edge of the couch. It was Edward. He was in the state of sleep where his eyes were mostly closed, except for a thin line of white with flickering lids. I pushed him awake with my foot.

He woke with a start.

"Bella." He looked intensely relieved, and I had no idea why.

"That's me?"

"Thank God you're okay." Thank Him? And… why? He kissed my forehead.

"What happened?"

"Bella, I swear," he sighed. "You passed out. Bella, you hadn't eaten in over 24 hours. Why the fuck would you do that? I just… I don't understand."

My eyes widened. I didn't know. I didn't remember. I didn't remember to eat, I didn't remember what happened, I didn't remember where James went –

"Where did James go?"

That made him pause, stop, think. He furrowed his brow and looked to the side.

"Charlie?" he called out for him. Charlie walked in shortly after, his face set in a frown.

"Oh Bella, you're okay."

He didn't touch me.

"We have to tell her Charlie. We can't _not _tell her."

"But Edward, she just woke up."

"Tell me what?" I interjected. "What's going on?" My voice rose in pitch, hurting even my own ears.

"Are you going to tell her then?" Charlie challenged Edward, who was clearly quite determined.

"If you don't want to Charlie then yes, I will."

Charlie was very unhappy with this. He scowled and stared at the floor.

"But she's just getting better," he said timidly.

They were talking like I wasn't in the room. I hated it.

"Someone please tell me what is going on?" I begged.

"Bella." Edward grasped my hands and spoke in a way that acted as though someone I knew had died. "You were asking about James… James, Bella, just hear me out okay?" I nodded. "James… he isn't real."

***

**Thankz to revrag for betaing**

**Ya**


	27. Chapter 27

***

"Bella? Are you listening to me?" Edward asked after an inappropriate pause.

"No, I'm serious, where is he?"

"Bella, damn it!" Charlie yelled, catching me completely off-guard. My eyes shot to him, and then he turned from me and walked out of the room with an echoing thud. "I'm calling Carlisle," he barked. Edward ignored him completely. I found it strange how the relationship between my father and Edward had become so incredibly improved in a matter of days. It seemed as though they were in cahoots against me.

Carlisle was like Superman; he was at my house in no time at all. Or maybe I was just losing track of time. Edward brought me water, the glass shaking in his clenched fist as he refused to meet my eye. He was muttering to himself in what sounded like small curses.

"How are you feeling?" Carlisle asked as he walked into the room. It bothered me when people tried to make situations less dire than they actually were.

"I don't understand."

"Edward, I take it you told her?" he quietly asked. I supposed I wasn't supposed to hear it, but I definitely did.

"Please help me," I finally begged, for no one was helping me. I just wanted help. I began to remember what had transpired, how James had hurt me, how he really hadn't. I moved to sit up but Edward placed a hand on my shoulder, pushing me back down.

"I'll help you. Let me help you," he said, brushing my hair behind my ear like I was a goddamn dog.

"Then tell me what's going on!"

"Bella," Carlisle interrupted, all calm façade and annoying deep breaths, "Edward already told you what happened, so what is it that you are confused about?" I hated that stupid psychiatrist voice. I hated everyone crowding me. I hated being stuck on the couch. I hated what they were saying. I hated everything.

"This isn't fucking science fiction," I spat. "When a person's a person, they're a person." Carlisle placed a hand on my shoulder, meant to placate me I was sure. I flinched and he pulled it away, drawing up a chair and settling down like this was some goddamn intervention and they were exorcising the demons out of my body. I instantly blocked everyone out, eyes darting to the doors and to the windows, to the keys to Charlie's police cruiser that were on the kitchen table. I needed to get out, to find James, to do _something_.

"Bella, there are certain conditions…" Carlisle began, but trailed off when I gave him a glare that silenced him. If looks could kill, everyone in the room would be dead. I just wanted out.

"Bella," Edward suddenly snarled, eyes fierce and hair wild. He tugged at it, making it stand on end. It was a flurried mess. Carlisle looked towards his son, obviously not expecting what he was about to say. Charlie hovered in the back. He was a mess. I couldn't even look at him. "What is James' last name? Do you even know? Do you? How about your phone? Is there a number in there? Is there? Because there wasn't, last time I checked. You told me that James knew a place to get your car painted. Did that ever happen? Does he have parents? Is he enrolled at our school? What is his _goddamn _last name, Bella?"

"Edward, please," Carlisle stopped him. Edward was fuming, a raging bull looking for a red flag. It was clear that everything he said was pent-up from somewhere, but for some reason I couldn't comprehend what he was saying. My mouth hung agape, waiting for someone to slap me back into reality, because clearly I was dreaming.

"Bella! What is his last name?!"

"I don't know!" I finally cried, "He never told me, okay?"

"And you never thought to ask?"

"Edward, that's enough," Carlisle cut in again.

"You don't understand!"

"What don't I understand, Bella, huh? What? That you have an imaginary friend who occasionally takes precedence over your real ones? Charlie and I, we've tried to help you. We thought he would go away.. But, no! He's still here. And he hurt you," he trailed off, sounding hopeless.

"Why are you even here?" I was crying, which was pitiful and stupid and wrong.

"Because you screamed into the phone and passed out! I was talking to you about homework, I thought you needed the help, but no, you were too goddamn busy with James. You screamed his name, Bella, and if you didn't sound so goddamn scared I wouldn't even have driven over here."

"I'm not crazy."

"Edward, you need to leave. Charlie, would you help me please?"

Charlie and Carlisle surrounded Edward, shuffling him from the room as he glared daggers at me. I didn't even know why he was so angry. I didn't understand what was going on, except for the fact that they were telling me I was crazy. I thought I was getting better, too. I thought I was improving. I thought I wasn't going to be crazy anymore. I thought I was going to be normal. I was wrong.

They came back in a few minutes later. Charlie remained standing in the background, resting against the wall with a solemn and defeated expression on his face. Carlisle approached me, but this time it was different. There was no notebook and no psychiatry-eyes, no prescription and no desk, no weird couch and no office, no Edward waiting just outside the door. No anything.

"When did you first meet James?"

"When he moved here, okay? Is that normal enough for you Dr. Cullen?" I sneered, subtly moving myself so that I could make a clean dash for the keys and the door. "And you know what? I know he was real. Want to know why? Well, for one, I'm not five. I don't have imaginary friends. _And _he's the only one who ever stood up for me. He stood up for me in school in front of Tanya, the first time I ever even met him. And then - and then - he stood up for me in front of Edward too. He punched Edward. I remember it. I remember. And he…" I struggled to remember other things that he had done publicly, "he sat with me at lunch at school, and we went shopping… and Tanya was there! Tanya knows he's real."

Carlisle looked dubious.

"Who is Tanya?" he asked calmly.

"A bitch."

"Do you have her phone number?"

"Ha, no, but I know that I'm not the only one who sees James. Because Edward has seen him too, and, and Charlie! Charlie, you've seen him, right?" Charlie turned towards me, sad eyes and down-turned mouth. The gun that was on the kitchen table was now tucked securely in his holster.

"I'm so sorry, Bella," Charlie whispered, "I was pretending for you. I thought it would help… I knew how you needed a friend. I thought it would help, Bella, I'm sorry. I thought it was my only option. I thought Edward would replace James… I was so grateful."

"I've seen you talk to him. I've seen you look at him. I've seen it, Charlie."

It began to rain. Charlie shook his head. That was that.

There was someone I knew wouldn't lie to me. Charlie would lie to get me away from James. That I knew. However, Tanya wouldn't lie to me. She took every chance she got to make me look crazy (like I evidently was), and this would just be another way to humiliate me. Right? Before I could make a sprint for the keys, Carlisle asked me some pretty expected questions.

"Did he hurt you? Did he call you any name?"

"He didn't hurt me," I lied. His hands were at his sides, right? They were at his sides. "He liked to call me Little B, but that wasn't a name, okay? He wasn't calling me a bad name. It was like a nickname."

There wouldn't have been anything strange about that fact save for a strangled sob Charlie suddenly emitted after my confession. Carlisle whipped around to face him, and I knew I had my chance.

"That was what her mother used to call her."

It was the last thing I heard before I was out the door, the police cruiser's keys jingling in my hand. Edward, who was waiting patiently on the deck, turned towards me in surprise. His eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks were red. I pretended that the wet spots on his cheeks were rain.

Boys don't cry.

"Where are you going?" he called as I jumped into the car. I was peeling out of the driveway by the time Carlisle and Charlie made it out of the house. Edward was already running towards his goddamn grandma car, prepared to chase me down. Of course, he didn't have the advantage of a cop car's emergency lights. I flicked them on with ease, ricocheting down the street and swerving around cars that were too slow to pull over.

As I was speeding to Tanya's, James showed up in the passenger seat.

"Where the fuck did you come from?" I cried, ignoring him as best I could. Maybe I could ignore the fact that he simply appeared in a moving vehicle. Maybe I could ignore the fact that I was absolutely crazy.

"Little B, don't believe them. You know they're all out to get you. They're just trying to bring you down, that's all. Remember, I was your only friend. I was the one there for you when no one would touch you because you were a dirty whore after you slept with that boy. I was the only one who helped you. I still am the only one who can help you, Little B. You need me. Without me, you'll have no one. You need me."

I pulled into Tanya's driveway with blurred vision. When I looked to the left, James was gone again and there was just an empty passenger seat. I hopped from the car and rang the doorbell, anxiously waiting for her to answer the door. Just as the door began to slide open I saw the Volvo pull up in my peripheral vision.

"What the fuck?"

Oh good, Tanya answered.

"Tanya!"

"Um, you?"

"Do you remember, um, do you remember when you took my lunch table and that boy came and he was like, 'you took her table, why would you do that?' and you were like, 'because I'm a bitch so I'm not giving up this table' and – " I paused to take a breath, my eyes darting to the side as the thud of a door closing echoed down the street.

"Edward?" Tanya called, shielding her eyes from the partial sun as she looked down the street to where he was running towards us.

"Tanya!" I called, recapturing her attention. Her eyes widened at my audacity, probably at my willingness to speak to her. "Do you remember?"

"You never asked for your table back. Edward asked you for it and you said okay, then you sat with freshmen. It was actually pretty gross. Do you talk to yourself?"

I ignored her, immediately moving on to my next question.

"But in the mall. In the mall you came and you saw me at a store and a boy was with me – "

"Oh, you mean Edward?" she cut me off.

"No, a different boy."

Edward was running up the walk.

"Okay seriously though, I never see you outside of school," she giggled, "I haven't talked to you like ever. What the hell does Edward see in you? You're fucking nuts."

"Back the fuck off," Edward screamed, close enough to hear her final lines. He grabbed me around the waist and I kicked him in the shins, attempting to push him off. I didn't want anyone to touch me. I didn't want anyone to touch me. "Bella, baby, please, I'm sorry. Just come back home and we'll figure this all out. We'll figure it out. Please, I love you."

"Don't touch me!" I pushed away from his grasp, backing up and accidentally ramming Carlisle square in the chest.

"Bella, if you stay calm and get in the car now, there will be no need for rash action," Carlisle said, penetrating the atmosphere with his calm and steady voice. I could hear the threat in there, too. I certainly wasn't immune to it. It even silenced Tanya, who was making small shocked noises on her front porch. I examined my surroundings. There was no out. This was it. I would only be returning home, but it somehow felt like I was preparing to enter my own morgue.

Charlie drove his police cruiser and the rest of us filed into Edward's goddamn grandma Volvo. Carlisle took the wheel while Edward and I sat in the back. I looked out the window, refusing to meet his eyes.

"I just wanted to help you," Edward suddenly said. He spoke in a soft tone, quiet enough so that Carlisle couldn't hear. "You wrote yourself a valentine, Bella. It was so sweet, but I knew you needed help, so, I tried."

"So that's all I was to you then? An experimental friend? An experimental girlfriend? Someone you could try to fix?"

Carlisle heard me. His eyes flickered to the rear view mirror.

"Of course not. I wanted to help you, Bella. I didn't expect to fall in love with you. I didn't expect that at all."

"Then why are you lying to me?" I cried. "Don't you remember when James hit you? He hit you! In the art room!"

"What? No, Bella, no. You were having a panic attack in the art room and your teacher allowed me to calm you down. All that happened that day was that I finally convinced you to talk to Carlisle. I never saw James. Not once. I was going to try to pretend for you, Bella, if he made you happy, but he hurt you. I know he hurt you. There may not be bruises," he said as his fingers trailed the length of my arm, shoulder to wrist. "But I know he hurt you." I could tell he didn't know what else to say. I could tell he didn't know how to help me anymore; he didn't know what to do anymore; he didn't know how to save me anymore.

"He didn't hurt me," I whispered, "His fists were at his side."

*

When we returned to the house it was clear that Charlie was unable to handle whatever else Carlisle was going to say. Carlisle said a few words to him. He was excusing him from the situation. The door to his room shut with a resounding thud. Edward sat beside me on the couch, though not close enough to touch me, of course. Carlisle asked me question after question, many of which I could only nod numb responses to.

"Did you have any friends before James?"

I shook my head, no.

"Did James support you better than anyone else you knew?"

I nodded my head, yes.

"Was James very similar to you?"

I nodded my head.

"Did James sporadically disappear?"

I nodded my head.

"Did you notice that, when you were happier with your life, James disappeared? Then you were sad, mad, emotional, angry, nervous, or thinking about the event that happened when you were in eighth grade, he reappeared?"

I hesitated, locking eyes with Edward. He bit his lip, ducking his head in a way that prompted me to answer. In a way that gave me support.

Then I nodded my head.

***

**People to blame this chapter on:**

**Revrag, irritable grizzzzzzzzzzly (grizzzly), frenchbeanz. (me as a last resort)**

**It was a strugglefest getting this one out. For serious. So… I hope you like **

**Only 2 more chapters left and an epilogue**


	28. Chapter 28

***

Edward left on a Tuesday.

Well he didn't _leave _leave, but he left.

Carlisle ordered him out. It wasn't Carlisle's house, but, as he said, "I am still Edward's father."

I didn't care.

I didn't notice.

Carlisle gave me pills. Big huge pills that clogged my throat when I swallowed, that made me hazy and lifeless.

They said I was living in an alternate reality, and that I had no idea what was going on. It wasn't that. It wasn't that at all. I knew what was going on. I knew everything that was going on. I just didn't know the difference between the things that actually happened, and the things that didn't. Everything was my reality, and I knew enough to recognize that.

I lay on my bed, watching stars becoming kamikazes. I went through a phase, along with most young kids, that required having those glow-in-the-dark stars stuck on the ceiling of my bedroom. They faded over the years, bright lights slowly turning into dull, glowing blobs. They were losing their stickiness, and they fell, no longer fighting gravity, to my hardwood floor. I didn't hear them fall. They were too light. They were like snowflakes. Starry snowflakes raining around me.

Curled in the fetal position, I waited for something to happen. I waited, I waited, I wanted that door to open. The rumbling of the rain on my roof was no longer white noise, but a thousand bullets shattering glass. I listened as I waited. I listened to the roof fall victim to the wet water, and to the near-silent sound of a falling star.

I figured Edward would come back to me.

He didn't.

I didn't care.

I didn't notice.

It was later, three days later, in fact, that I finally felt the loss of him. I felt it deep in my chest. It was emptiness, filling all of the spots of me that I gave him. I lost parts of myself. I gave too much to him. I risked too much, and now I would pay for it.

Carlisle walked in.

He took a deep breath, pinched his nose twice, and said, "Would you like to talk now?"

I felt the burning hole in my chest. I reveled in my mistakes, allowing them to overtake me. But I didn't want anyone else to witness this. I wanted to dissolve into myself, to disappear. But I wanted to do it alone. I turned away from Carlisle in response, my back facing him and my front facing the blank wall beside my bed.

"Maybe tomorrow."

I knew what Carlisle was planning. I could smell it on him like the sweat that drenched his forehead, permeating the air with a sticky, salty stench. He was going to send me away. Probably to a psycho ward, or some shit. I was going to be the next goddamn crazy in _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_. Which was insane, because I didn't feel any different than I did when I was functioning. I mean, James wasn't even here anymore. It was just me, completely alone.

And I still didn't know which way was up.

I slept on and off, drifting in and out of consciousness. Eventually, I didn't know what was reality and what wasn't. But, apparently, that had always been my problem. Whoopty-fucking-do.

I realized, after awhile (or maybe it wasn't awhile, maybe I was completely lost, even in time), that James was inside of me. I felt him, battling against my every thought, pushing in an attempt to break free once more. I could feel his constant pressure, bending my malleable opinions, convincing me things that were not true, that were not real. And it wasn't like I could say it was all James' fault. Because it wasn't. Because, in his own way, even if it was my own coping mechanism, he was helping me. Before him, I was just a loner. With him, I was stronger, more confident, willing to reach beyond my carefully constructed bubble.

I realized, awhile after my first realization, that I needed Edward back. When Carlisle came to talk with me, as he had done every day, at the exact same time each day, I finally replied.

"Would you like to talk now?" He clearly wasn't expecting much. I judged that assumption by the way his shoulders slumped, and the thick and heavy exhalation of breath after he spoke.

"Can I see Edward?" He immediately straightened up, surprised.

"I don't know if that's the best –"

"Please, Carlisle." I cut him off. He paused for a moment in contemplation.

"How about you write him. I don't want anything to escalate with him coming here. Knowing my son, I fear that would happen."

I begrudgingly accepted, no longer having the energy to protest any of Carlisle's decisions. I fell asleep shortly after he left, mostly to the repetitive sounds of the rain, and Charlie's feet pacing in the kitchen below me. I didn't dream anything. It was a blank sort of fog, where I knew I was present, but everything around me was unwilling to acknowledge the same fact. No one I knew was in the fog. I was perpetually alone. I couldn't figure out if I was disappointed by that fact, or simply relieved.

I moved from my bed the next morning. To the desk.

Oh, and I smelled really fucking bad.

I stared at the paper. The empty lines didn't mock me; they just looked at me, all benign interest, all patiently waiting for my words. I sighed, pushing the pen in circles, making the ink spill out onto the paper in a thick black circular gash. I mulled over the words for awhile. Let them roll around on my tongue before I put them on the paper, giving myself the luxury that wasn't given when talking to someone in person.

_Edward,_

_The first day I met you, I was extremely pissed. I remember seeing you, clear as day now. The way that your hair, all boyish and messy, lit underneath the pale Forks' sun. The way that your smile, bright and clean and clear and perfect, welcomed me, greeted me, waited for me. Rosy cheeks and pudgy baby fat, acknowledging my flat, boyish body in a way that I never could, not really. Right from the beginning, I gave you everything that I had. I gave it to you without even wanting to, without even meaning to. And I couldn't take it back. I didn't want to take it back._

_I was lost for so long. I still am, really. I lose the light sometimes. Not a godly light, but the light that tells me what I should do for myself, and what I shouldn't. And, in giving everything that I had to you, I think I gave you that trait, too. How I wish I could take it back. How I wish I could return everything lent to you, or everything that transformed in you, like a disgusting, contagious, deadly disease._

_I took you with me, and we fell together. I took you with me and we kept falling, unstoppable, perilous victims to weight and gravity. I saw myself in you. I saw the way that I was affecting you. I still see it. I see it every day, in everything that I do. The way you feel what I feel. The way I've given you those feelings, pushed them onto you. I'm perilous being in your proximity. I'm dangerous, Edward. More dangerous than any vampire, serial killer, murderer. I'm psychotic. I can take you. I can hurt you. _

_Yet, like the true monster that I am, I am too selfish to let you go. From that very first day, I knew I had to have you. I knew it deep in my bones, and when you didn't want to have me back? That killed me. I let myself go, I lost that goddamn light, and I didn't care. But then you came back. You came back and I knew that I could finally, finally have what I had always truly wanted. I was glad to have you to fall with._

_I was glad to have company in my impervious and imminent slam to rock bottom._

_I thought you could help me. I gave myself to you because you could help me. I had to give myself to you. I had to give you everything that I had so you could truly understand. And I can't even take it back. Yet this letter is filled with repeated 'I's' and 'me's', only further exemplifying my own selfishness, my own inability to feel empathy, to reciprocate equally, to love truly. _

_And that, perhaps, is my greatest downfall. Not the mental illness, but the inability to love you as you deserve. _

_And still, I am too selfish to leave you._

_You have to do it for me, or I will fall to that bottom, and I will hit hard, and I will be destroyed._

_Bella_

He arrived in my room two days later, skin slick with sweat, hair wet with dewy rain. I didn't register all of his details, much to my dislike. It was like I didn't have the effort. I didn't even have the effort to move from the bed, to touch him everywhere, to memorize him forever. It disgusted me. I disgusted myself. Edward hovered, seeming unsure of what to say. His mouth opened and closed a few times, perfect teeth encased by perfect pink lips. It pained me, how beautiful he was. It was unfair.

He sat down on the edge of my bed, palms rubbing up and down on his jeans.

"I got your – "

"Did you get my – "

We both started at the same time, then stopped. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. I hated that mannerism. I found fault in that mannerism, I think. It marked an imperfection. It betrayed his thoughts.

"Hey listen," he coughed. "I'm not, I mean, I'm not that perfect. What you wrote? It's not how I really am."

I sighed, not willing to hear him belittle himself. It was just a mirror of the way I constantly berated my own body image, my own personality. It was just another little bit of me finding its way into him, and plaguing whatever it touched.

"That wasn't the point."

"I know. But it was important, Bella. I had to bring it up. You can't keep thinking shit like that. Bella, you don't understand what you're – "he cut himself off, burying his face in his hands. Fingers raked up and down his scalp. I expected red blood to leak from strange auburn. "You're beautiful, okay? Every part of you. It doesn't matter… it doesn't matter what anyone says. Just listen to me. Just trust me."

"Edward…" I trailed off.

"No wait, just hear me out, okay?" he asked, taking a deep breath, "just hear me out. That James shit? That doesn't even matter. That can be fixed, okay? Stay with me. That's all that matters. Bella, I need you."

"You don't need me."

"I need you."

"No, you don't."

"Jesus Christ, Bella! You can't tell me what I do and do not need!" he exploded, face pink with rage, eyes wide with outburst. Wide and wet.

Carlisle peeked his head through the door, obviously hovering right outside. He gave Edward a stern look, keeping a steady gaze, gauging the interaction between the two of us. I still hadn't moved from the last time he saw me, buried deep in protective blankets, unable to face the outside of the cotton sheets.

"Everything going okay in here?" Carlisle questioned. Edward took a deep breath, turning away to gather his features.

Boys don't cry.

Boys don't cry.

"It's fine," he said, turning back around. "I freaked out a little bit, but I'm fine now." His voice sounded dull, lifeless, empty. I assumed he finally understood what it was that I was asking him to do.

"Five more minutes," Carlisle allowed, silently shutting the door behind him.

Edward returned to his spot on the edge of my bed, hands twitching in his lap, fingers twirling around other fingers, twisting and pulling.

"Before I… before I do this," he choked out, "can you just answer me one thing?"

"Anything," I replied. My own voice grated angrily on my ears.

"When, I mean, after prom… did you want to do what, uh, what we did?"

He couldn't even say it. He couldn't even say what we did.

"Of course," I breathed, "I wanted to give you everything. I would do it again, now, if I could. Of all the decisions I've made, I would never alter that one, Edward. I promise."

"Okay."

His shoulders shook, trembled.

He turned away.

Boys don't cry.

Boys don't cry.

"I can't do it now," he finally said.

"But – "

"Give me the weekend. Please. I'll do it, Bella, but I need the weekend."

"Of course."

After he left, I allowed myself to wallow in my misfortune. I realized that I had two days of numbness left, and, come Monday, I would either completely die, or triumph. Perhaps both, like the strange phoenix in Harry Potter. The one that burns right up. I could be that phoenix, maybe. Burn right up, but eventually save the day.

Or maybe not.

***

**if you're confused – most likely it'll be cleared up next chapter. If not, pm me.**

**REVRAG BETA'D!!!!!**

**This chapter is for CHROMETURTLE. Why? Well, mostly because she wrote an orgy about a whorish Ginny, a slutty Bella, a crippled Cedric, and a prude Edward. Also because she has no friends and no life. AND SHE KEEPS LOGGING OFF ON ME ON GMAIL WITHOUT SAYING GOODBYE… little beezy. Maybe I don't like her. Oh well. If you're not reading expectations and other moving pieces, well, you should get to that.**

**It is also for the ravelry girls, who I miss dearly and haven't talked to in ages! **

**Apolo Ohno awaaaaaaayyyy**


	29. Chapter 29

***

I packed my things. But, honestly, I didn't have that much to pack. There were a few clothes, standard bus fare, some money I kept hidden underneath my bed, the ring Edward gave me, and the keys to my truck that was never painted—and always lay dormant. Charlie was asleep on the couch when I left. Carlisle was home, at his house, finally taking a break. Edward was waiting for me in a tiny diner just off of the highway that led south to Seattle.

I was awkward and clunky in the car. Apparently the heater didn't work, and the piece of shit rumbled like a rocket taking off when I backed down the driveway. From the large window into the living room, I saw Charlie shoot up, disoriented, rubbing his eyes. I had cleared the street before he looked out the window to see that the truck finally saw its first use. After the truck's warm up, it really was surprisingly soothing. Everything outside the car blurred to the point of nonexistence, and I finally felt that I was passing by life, rather than life passing me by.

Edward received his promised two days of weekend. I wasn't sure why he needed it. To emotionally steel himself, I assumed, though that was rather egocentric of me. I parked right next to his Volvo, almost brushing the side of it, actually. Thankfully, the bright red paint of my car did not mar the precious silver of his. The diner was practically deserted, considering it was near ten o'clock at night. There was a trucker on one of the barstools, his truck blocking unneeded parking spots, towing piles of logs. There was also an elderly woman alone in a back booth. I saw her once or twice when I was younger, the old woman patrolling the grocery store just for something to do.

Sitting down at the opposite end of the counter, I watched Edward emerge from the shoddy restrooms. He spotted me and walked over, all confident calm. He sat beside me, angled towards me, opening his mouth only to be interrupted by a waitress with a bad push-up bra.

"Would you kids like anything?" I wondered how someone with a southern accent made their way to Forks, Washington.

"No thank you," I answered quietly. Edward said the same. His hands gripped the edge of the grimy table, and I watched patiently as his carefully crafted façade begin to slip.

"Please, Edward," I begged once the silence was too great. He nodded and took one last deep breath.

"I need to not date you anymore, Bella."

I cringed.

Hard.

I was waiting for the blow. I set it up. I thought I was ready. But really, I could never be ready. It broke me like the sudden twang of a broken string on an acoustic guitar. The reverberation echoed through my bones and swept the breath from my lungs. Edward watched me, and I hated myself for making him do it. I hated myself for not being strong enough to break up with my own boyfriend.

"Say it again," I whispered quietly, remembering his request for me to tell him that I loved him one more time. How long ago it seemed.

"We can't be boyfriend and girlfriend anymore, Bella."

He paused, took another deep breath.

"I don't want you."

_What a great actor._ This was what I told myself.

"You don't want me," I repeated, disbelief coloring my tone. How could I be so disbelieving? I requested this, I wanted this. No. I needed this. I could not be so dependent on Edward anymore. I had to get better on my own, else my entire life would have been dependent on Edward, and that was not fair to him. It was not fair to have to love someone who wasn't stable, who wasn't whole.

"I don't want you," he repeated.

"I understand."

"Good." His voice cracked.

The truck driver's eyes darted over occasionally, and while he pretended to read the newspaper, he was actually listening to the conversation at the other end of the counter. His brow furrowed in a way that symbolized his pain, for something that was said must have touched his past. The old lady in the corner seemed oblivious, though the way that she speared her late-night pancakes told otherwise. The fluffy chunks were mutilated. The waitress watched from behind the counter, her face hidden behind a skillet, hanging from a hook on the wall. She held a napkin to her mouth, and her other hand rested on her heart. She was crying.

I stood, ignoring these people and their unnatural and unwanted attraction to our situation. Edward stayed sitting, eyes trained on the counter, hard as granite.

I walked calmly out to the car.

It wasn't even raining.

As I drove to Seattle, I allowed my mind to run blank. It was as if all that existed was me, the road, and the car. I watched the yellow and white lines dissolve beneath me, and marveled the gentle curves of the highway. Edward would tell me later - much later - that he broke down after I left, right there in the diner. The waitress yelled at him, he would tell me. The waitress yelled at him, "How could you do it? How could you break that young girl's heart? How _could _you?"

But I did not witness any of this, and I assumed, perhaps naively, that Edward would be fine. That Edward would move on without me, and I without him. I could already tell that I was stronger. It wasn't as if I didn't love Edward anymore. Oh, I still loved Edward. So much so that my heart hurt, reverberating in my chest like the rhythm of a dying soldier boy.

But the feeling of independence – that was what I wanted, what I needed. For my whole life, I depended on others telling me what I was, who I was, how I should be. For once, I was on my own. Yes, it was reckless. Yes, it was stupid. Yes, I had no plan of action, no one to see, nothing in my possession. But I knew in my heart that I needed this.

I needed to find myself before I needed to find anyone else.

I wrote Edward letter after letter after letter.

He never replied.

He never replied because I told him not to on the paper, just below the point where I signed my name.

And they were all the same.

_Edward,_

_I miss you every day. I see you reflected in windows and in the glass on the outside of shops. I see you in the wind and in the sky, when the rain falls too hard to see two feet in front of me. I see__you in the place of every stranger on the street with the same eyes, hair color, or mien as you. I feel a twinge in my gut, a spark of hope, of life, when I see you in these strangers. It helps me carry on, and as I look for you in the next stranger, in the next window, in the next object, I am healing._

_Not perfectly, of course. Seattle isn't some magical drug. In fact, it's really the opposite of that. Unlike Forks, there are so many different types of people here. There are people crazier than I am, wandering the streets with a limp and a cup, asking for change and speaking to themselves, speaking to the people that they think they see. I hardly talk to James anymore. Just when I'm lonely, and I can't distract myself by thinking about you, what you're doing, where you are. He gradually fades away when I get tired, like a wisp of a person, a dusty mirage. _

_But you're real. You're real and tangible and I will never stop looking for you, even though I know exactly where you are. I know we'll find each other again eventually, but I have to be in that place. I have to be in that place where I know that I can be as good to you as you were to me. _

_Bella_

_Please don't respond_

They all followed the same pattern, beginning first with how often I thought I saw him, to the city, to James, to how much I miss him, to the faith I have in our relationship, to the request for him not to respond. I often wondered if he tired of my repetitive words, grimy notebook paper, scrawled handwriting. It didn't stop me from writing the same letter the next day, week, month, year.

I was hired at a little boutique that sold ugly ass baby clothes. Most of the time I just sat in the back, watching pregnant costumers file in and out, their hands dirty from the street only to touch the soft cotton of the clothes. I thumbed through magazines behind the desk with the cash register, and rang up the occasional person who actually bought something. I considered doing something grand and amazing, something that would make a legacy for myself. Maybe set up a campaign for people like me, maybe write a memoir, maybe go back to school, maybe become an entrepreneur.

I left those dreams dormant, not because of some fit of depression, but because I knew what I should be focusing on. I knew that, in my life, the grand and amazing thing would be becoming healthy and capable, functional in every facet of myself.

After five years of working at the boutique, I ended up signing up for night classes at the U Dub. I was a little bit too young for night school, but too old for the regular school. Either way, I enjoyed it. I relearned the classes that I watched through a haze in high school, and gradually moved onto more difficult subjects. I upgraded my apartment, but it was still cozy and warm.

On Christmas Eve, I sat in my living room, sipping a glass of wine and curling up with the cat I adopted impromptu. Its name was Whiskers because it didn't have any whiskers. I wasn't sure why he didn't have any whiskers. It was pretty weird, actually. He purred under my arm, then decided he had enough of me and jumped away, tail wagging in the air as he strutted to my bedroom. I chuckled and rolled over, stuffing my face into a pillow. Abruptly, I fell asleep.

I woke in the middle of the night to the sound of the blaring sirens of an ambulance, its lights casting unpredictable flashes across my living room. I shivered and walked quietly to my bedroom, the small room in the back. Whiskers lay languidly across my pillow, purring his heart out. I moved him and slid beneath the covers and curled up, staring at the wall. The sirens died down to the muted sounds of the Seattle traffic, leaving me feeling empty and worn down.

Lonely.

The twinges of unhappiness licked at the back of my brain, increasing my paranoia and imagination. During occurrences like that I often wrote to Edward, spilling my thoughts and dreams on the paper, mailing it to him, begging him not to reply. I shot out of bed and searched for paper. Nothing. I used my last piece. I forgot to buy more. For some reason, it was absolutely devastating to me. I took a few deep breaths, calming down, sighing.

My eyes flickered back and forth between my newly-acquired cell phone and my bed, both looking rather ominous and uninviting. In a spur of the moment decision, I chose the phone, taking a leap of faith. My fingers shook on the keys.

"Hello?"

It was Carlisle. His voice was deeper, darker, gruff with sleep.

"Hello?" he asked again, slightly annoyed. I heard the stirrings of blankets, shuffling in the night.

"Hello," I blurted out, waiting with teeth on my lip. I could almost hear the click, click, clicking of his brain thinking. And then, bing!

"Bella?" Shock.

"Hi… Carlisle. Is, um, Edward there?" There was a pause. It lasted too long.

"He moved out awhile back," he said softly.

Of course. Of course he did. It had been five years since high school years.

"Would you like his new phone number?" he asked after I hadn't said anything.

"Yes, that would be… yes," I stammered, preparing my brain to remember the numbers. He recited them quickly and we said brief goodbyes, including me promising to call back in the near future, and to call Charlie as well.

I hesitated before calling Edward. It was ridiculous, because I had already taken the giant leap. I just had to do it one more time.

So I did. I didn't know what I expected from him. I didn't expect immediate acknowledgement, or any acknowledgement at all, really. I didn't expect acceptance. I didn't expect understanding. All I really expected was a "hello".

"Hello?" he spoke after five long, painful rings. It was the middle of the night. He was wide awake, just like me.

"Edward?" I asked tentatively.

There was a sharp intake of breath, a long pause, a muffled sob.

"I have your letters."

***

**The epilogue is also posted… press that little button on the right there… there you go… press it… :D**


	30. Epilogue

***

Edward moved to Boston from Forks for school. He spent four years there, and then moved on to a grad school in hopes of pursuing some type of medical career. It had been so long, those years, though to me they all felt the same. Each winter blurred into the next, summer to summer, spring to spring, fall to fall. Still, I marveled at the progress I had made and my newfound ability of standing on my own two feet. My late night phone call to Edward ended in quiet goodnights, though he had agreed to come to Seattle as soon as possible to visit.

In fact, he arrived the following weekend. I agreed to meet him in a small coffee joint downtown, seeing as he did not see the airport as a fitting reunion venue.

I didn't even recognize him. I didn't recognize the way he moved, looked, acted. His appearance was one of a man, not a boy. His shoulders filled out, eyes darkened, jaw more defined. Stronger, more impressive stubble lined his face, making him appear more mature. Yet even though he looked hardly effeminate or weak, he walked with caution. Trepidation, even. Each step faltered as if in fear.

He met my eye only moments after walking into the shop. His eyes widened as if surprised, and he stumbled into the seat across from me. We tucked ourselves into a small corner of the shop, away from passerby.

"It's good to see you again." He spoke first, head ducked down.

I smiled, noticing three laugh lines had found permanent residence in the corners of his eyes. Of course, they were paired with the stress clear as day on his forehead.

We spoke only pleasantries at first, but gradually we began to inform each other of our time apart. Our experiences, or, in my case, improvements and setbacks.

"So you're in school again," I prompted.

"Yes," he smiled with something akin to embarrassment, his face trained on his coffee.

"Med school?"

"Psychiatry," he clarified, eyes averted.

"That's nice."

He smiled.

"It was because… when you thought that what happened was your fault… I wanted to figure out why you thought that. Because it wasn't," he stammered through his sentence, then seemed relieved once he finished.

"So, did you figure out what's wrong with me?" I asked with a smirk.

He grinned and took a deep breath, his fingers brushing mine underneath the table.

"Not yet."

***

**THE END! :D**

**People to be thanked (I will probably forget a million people, because I suck… BAH!)**

**Revrag, chrometurtle, maylin, fats, irritable grizzzly, ALL ravelry girls, catmasters, lost my mind forever, angstgoddess003, ALL t'd girls, ALL twitter girls, every single person who ever reviewed, read, recommended, thought about, talked about, or flamed this fic!**

**There will not be a sequel. There will not be an EPOV. There WILL be an outtake for lost my mind forever (I haven't forgotten, I promise!) and people should send me a PM if they want to request a topic (because I have no idea what to write about) that involves nutella! Yay!**

**Watch out for an emo one shot that chrometurtle and I are writing for the black balloon contest (GO CHECK OUT THE CONTEST PAGE! (fanfiction(dot)net/blackballooncontest)**

**Thank you EVERY SINGLE PERSON for all of your time. I really appreciated it.**

**SEE YOU SOON! :D**


	31. Outtake

**Outtake / Alternate Ending (Of Sorts)**

***

5 YEARS AFTER EPILOGUE

***

Edward was working on his residency, so he was gone a lot. Scratch that—he was gone _all of the time_. I hardly ever saw him, which might have devastated me at some point, but didn't. Not anymore. I spent most of my time away from the apartment we shared, anyway. I worked, too, though nothing near as prestigious as Edward. After all, there's only so much I could do with a GED. We moved to Portland, Oregon in order to be near Edward's residency program. It wasn't a large move for me, which was nice, and Edward's family was pleased that he was moving closer to home after such a long time.

What bothered me was that he came home exhausted. That, and Charlie. In an attempt to rekindle my relationship with my only family, I was basically groveling at his feet. After all, I deserved it. Ditching him like that, I felt like a real bitch. The hardest part was the first few times I initially spoke to him. It was still hard to speak to him. I couldn't handle his pent up feelings and emotions, and the way they seemed to break through all of the barriers I had carefully constructed after moving away from my childhood home. But I had a support system now, to help me. They helped me realize the things that were clouded in the haze of adolescence.

For one, they helped me realize that what I did was incredibly reckless and naïve. That, and it didn't work in the slightest. Rather, my leaving on my own during my senior year was probably one of the worst things I could have done. I deserted my family and my home, but most importantly I deserted Edward. It was hard to get him to open up about what it was like when I was gone. It didn't happen often, but when he did speak of it, it was both painful and sad. He knew I made a mistake, though, and he accepted that. It was much more than I deserved, bu_t I _accepted it all the same.

Edward came home at nine o'clock. I was just finishing up dinner—some Thai food I picked up on my way home from my appointment. I heard him unlock the door and walk in, then lock the deadbolt with a click. The sound of his feet was heavy and slow, which made me sad for him, though I ought not to. He was doing what he loved, and there were sacrifices he had to make before he could set us up properly. I heard him walk to the bedroom. Assuming he would come out again, I heated up some of the leftover Thai food.

After a few minutes, Edward still hadn't come out. With my brow furrowed, I walked to the bedroom to find Edward face down on the bed, still fully clothed. Chuckling slightly, I removed his shoes and put them in the closet. He grunted his approval and reached out for me, pulling me down onto the bed beside him. He snorted slightly. I politely ignored it.

"Come here," he grumbled, eyes still closed.

"But I have Thai food for you," I said, ignoring the inviting way he curved his body.

"Don't want it," he grunted.

"You have to eat."

He raised his eyebrows, finally opening his eyes; they were red but intrigued.

"You have to eat the Thai food," I laughed, rolling my eyes.

"Not interested," he replied, pulling me down to him. "Guess what?"

"What?" His hair was getting too long. It was beginning to grow over the collar of his shirt, and crawl into his line of sight. I brushed it back with my palm, willing to curl up beside him, bodies melding together. A siren blared from below our apartment before he could speak. Flashing lights of green and blue threw light haphazardly across our bedroom—lighting Edward's skin like a sparkling Christmas tree.

He looked ridiculous.

"I have the day off tomorrow," he grinned.

"What? No. Seriously?"

"Mmhmm," he acknowledged, obviously utterly exhausted. He pulled the blanket up and around us, still fully clothed in his work clothes. His arm draped languidly over my waist, and, in a matter of moments, he was breathing heavily in deep sleep. I smiled to myself, working each button of his shirt in order to free it from his body. Light hair brushed against his chest; it was something I had come to love, though it certainly wasn't present in our old relationship. It was symbolic of many things in our relationship. The newness was infinitely better than the old, but not completely different. He was still Edward and I was still Bella.

I moved slowly in taking off his shirt, careful not to wake him. Really, it was unfounded. Whenever he came home after work he was dead tired – nothing would wake him. Even when I unbuckled his belt he didn't budge. I traced the muscles of his chest, simply adoring him. I wondered how it was possible that I got so lucky, that the thing I wanted the most was realized.

It was stupid, thinking that I could ever truly live without Edward. I could survive, that was true. Hell, I _did _survive without Edward. I survived without Edward for five years. But, it wasn't actually living. It never would have been actually living without him with me. I fell asleep to the sound of his heartbeat against my ear, and awoke in the absence of sound.

He sat against the edge of the bed, scratching his head absently. His hair stood in all directions, as it always did in the early morning. At one point, he informed me that, during high school, it took him half an hour to tame it in the morning. When I informed him that it took him longer to get ready than me, a girl, he put on a sour face and didn't talk to me for half an hour. Then he got over it. Whatever.

I looked at the clock on the bedside table. It registered ten in the morning. Usually, Edward was up by at least six, due to the hours that were required by his residency. It felt good to have him here, with me, instead of out working. I moved in the bed and he turned around to see if I was awake. When our eyes met, he smiled.

"Good morning," he hummed, and ducked in for a kiss. I dodged, not allowing my morning breath to spread like the plague. He rolled his eyes and stood up, walking over to the window and opening the blinds. To the surprise of us both, light streamed through the small cracks. Rare sunshine on a Portland spring day. "Would you look at that," Edward remarked, peering through the slats in the blinds.

"Yeah, no kidding. We should do something outside today, maybe," I proposed, moving from the bed to stand beside him.

"Outside…" he mumbled. We were both at a loss. Outdoor activities weren't often hypothesized in Portland.

"I know what we can do in preparation," I smiled, turning my head to the bathroom.

"Shower?" he asked, turning to me and smirking.

"Shower," I confirmed.

After our shower, we finally decided that a picnic would be something that we could do outside that was also relaxing enough for one of Edward's only days off. We packed up a lunch that consisted of sandwiches and a few deflated, sad looking bags of Capri Sun. We didn't really have the traditional picnic garb like a wicker basket and a checkered blanket, so I threw everything in a grocery bag and we ended up pulling the blanket off of our bed (not a good idea, in hind-sight.) We drove around for awhile, pretty unfamiliar with any of the outdoorsy places around Portland. That was actually pretty embarrassing, for I was sure at least six of the people that lived on our floor alone were avid hikers.

Finally, after driving around in circles for a good hour, we ended up pulling off to the side of the road in order to create our own path. Also not a good idea. By the time we reached an area that was remotely suitable for our picnic, I was caked with mud, sticks, and dirt all the way up to the knee. Edward, on the other hand, was pretty much spotless. He was absurdly graceful as he watched me fall over stray stumps and logs. Of course, his reaction times apparently sucked. Either that, or he enjoyed watching me fall flat on my face. I assumed it was a little bit of both.

I threw the blanket down over the slightly damp grass. Thankfully, the dew was not strong enough to penetrate our thin protection. We sat down upon it, and I pulled out the sandwiches. Edward smiled gratefully, taking his and opening it up. Up 'till that point, we were almost completely silent. It was something we had to grow into – the silence. At first, we attempted to fill it in its entirety, though we soon found out that always stressing about what to say was positively fruitless. It was easier for us, personally, to communicate in the absence of noise. We did this through touches and facial expression, brief brushes of skin on skin.

Some evil crow that somehow must have been a hybrid with a sheep squawked incessantly.

Edward took a bite of his sandwich, and then promptly spat it up on the ground.

"What is this?" he spluttered, attempting to rid his tongue of the taste.

"A sandwich," I laughed, taking a bite of my own. The sticky, sweet syrup stuck to my teeth and gums as I chewed.

"What the hell is in here?"

He opened up the sandwich, peering inside with an expression both dubious and a little bit scared. He gaped at it for a moment, and then spoke.

"Okay, Bella. Be honest with me. Is this foreign turd left out too long in the sun?"

"Edward, that's horrible!" I laughed, slapping his shoulder. "It's Nutella. It's good… but you have to get used to it."

"I was expecting peanut butter," he grumbled, pushing the two slices of bread back together with his palms.

"We ran out," I explained. "But this is good too, right?"

He paused for a moment – a very brief moment – to deliberate.

"No. It's disgusting. It not only looked like melting turd, it tastes like it, too. Seriously, who buys this?" He put the decapitated sandwich back in the bag.

"I don't know," I replied. I almost said James, but I didn't. I hardly thought about him anymore; I only did when times got really bad. And, when I got that low, both Edward and my doctor were able to help me out of where I was. They helped me get back on my feet. I was prescribed some medication, though it took me awhile to get used to them. The pills had a way of making me paranoid and making my skin crawl, but they were infinitely better than the alternative. And the worst part of those lows wasn't even what it did to me; it was what it did to Edward. Never did I want to see someone I loved so fervently so scared. I didn't want to cause him pain or hurt or trouble. I did it for myself, yes, but one of my main driving forces was Edward, and saving him the worry.

And it was worth it.

I watched as he lay back on the blanket, hands hooked behind his head as he stared at the clouds. I admired him, finishing the rest of my sandwich in a seated position. After finishing, I lay beside him on the cool blanket. I felt his heat radiate. It filled me with warmth. Warmth and love.

"I love you," I said quietly, in between the cries of the bird-sheep hybrid.

"I love you, too," he replied, then paused. "But Bella?"

"Yeah?" I asked tentatively.

"Never buy Nutella again."

***

**For: Lost My Mind Forever**

**Thanks to revrag for the betaing**


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